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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



The World's Literature 

A COURSE IN ENGLISH 

FOR 

COLLEGES AND HIGH SCHOOLS 

IX FOUR PARTS. 

■part t. 



— 



/ 

by / yy % 

MARY E: BURT 

Of the Chicago Board of Education; Formerly Teacher of Liter- 
ature at The Cook County Normal School. 

Author of "Literary Landmarks. 



CHICAGO 

Albert, Scott & Co. 

1890 



T*!:; 



•^ 



<? : 



Copyright, 1890, 
By Mary E. Burt. 



Press of Hornstein Bros. , Chicago, 



PREFACE. 

" Literature is the autobiography of the human race," 
says James Russell Lowell. 

As in the lines of the face we can read the language 
of the heart, so in Literature can we read the soul- 
history of humanity. 

% To study mankind as if its entire life were the life of 
one individual, to see at every point the necessity of that 
period in its development, to watch the race in its strug- 
gles after truth; this is the real motive for the study 
of Literature. Too much stress has been heretofore put 
on superficial motives for this great study; the cultiva- 
tion of artistic perception, the getting a large knowledge 
of writers, a practical acquaintance with rhetoric, meta- 
phors and similes, different styles in writing, an abun- 
dant store of subject-matter. None of these things are 
vital. " The proper study of mankind is man," for it is 
in our contact with human beings that our development 
rests. A physical environment, in which there are no 
human beings, is wholly insufficient for the development 
of the human soul. When man is deprived of human 
fellowship he becomes idiotic. Nothing can take his 
place. Christ became man that he might save man. A 
real teacher of Literature will never willingly present 
this subject to his pupils with any motive below the 
highest, and it is to awaken this ideal and to render it 
practical that this book is presented. 

Chicago, 1890. Mary E. Burt. 




Mvth-M&kiiror 
Age 



liijEH- Victor- 
' fi? Unfit 



TO TEACHERS. 

This work is based on the fact that almost forty cen- 
turies of history and literature are open to every reader, 
and easily accessible to him who reads in the right 
direction; that a scientific habit of thought demands 
the perception of literature as an entirety or as a growth. 
It is based further on the fact that the history of nations, 
their real or soul history, has found truest expression in 
their songs and stories, and that it is an economy of the 
student's energy for him to read with reference to the 
development of the world's thought and to get its his- 
tory, in the main, through its literature. To continually 
place desultory reading before the student is unpsyeho- 
logical. It tends to destroy his memory and to weaken 
his ability to reason and thus give him no power of self- 
direction. 

To teach literature in such a manner that the student 
shall form the logical habit of thought, that his infor- 
mation may be enlarged, his literary or esthetic sense 



TO TEACHERS 



quickened — these are the tests of a great teacher of 
literature. To do this the teacher must know when to 
drop literature as a fine art, and teach briefly what is 
called "history;" when to drop history and teach geog- 
raphy; when to drop all of these and teach "English," 
in other words, composition. 

The most practical plan seems to be to present the 
geography first by means of maps, photographs and 
other pictures. 

Second, to let the student read a whole piece of 
literature that he may realize it in its entirety, and dis- 
cuss it as a work of art with regard to its meaning as a 
whole, and its literary quality or esthetic value. 

Third, to re-read such parts of it as require further 
consideration either as to construction or meaning. 

Fourth, to let the student make his own history 
from the subject-matter as May Sheldon Barnes teaches 
in her Greek and Roman history, " doing away with the 
middle men by going to the original sources," as she says. 

Fifth, to occasionally draw a chart on the black- 
board in order to show the chronological place of the 
literature under consideration, and its relation to what 
preceded and what followed it. 

Sixth, to require from the student a written review 
of the study — such a review as one looks for in the lit- 
erary notes of a good magazine. The advantages to 
the student of learning " English " or composition in 
this way are great. He is not obliged to draw on a bar- 
ren imagination for ideas, but can form an independent 
judgment as to the value of the work. In no case should 
the student be urged to believe, either in the subject- 



TO TEACHERS 



matter, or in the aesthetic quality of the literature pre- 
sented. He should be left to draw his own conclusions. 

It has been customary to build fences between vari- 
ous literatures and different epochs, saying, "This is 
Greek," "This is Roman," "This is English." It is 
important that the student should feel that " Age calleth 
unto age," the Greek shades into the Roman, the 
Roman into the German, and all into English. To rear 
a partition between epoch and epoch is as destructive of 
logical sense as the thumping of a baton on a table is 
destructive of the onward sweeping, the intense quality 
in music. 

It has been customary also to divide subject-matter 
into chapters of certain length, or into lessons and para- 
graphs. It is the intention of this work to do away 
with such divisions except where they come naturally and 
are convenient. Such interruptions retard thought, and 
a teacher of intelligence does not require " helps" of 
that kind. There is no attempt in the book to question 
the intelligence of teachers under the guise of helping 
them. 

Side-notes have been placed along the margins that 
the student may readily refer to any thought to which 
he may wish to return, and these may be used also as 
topics in discussion. Other topics are placed at the end 
of the volume that the subjects treated may be discussed 
as wholes rather than by steps. 

The plan of The World's Literature will be readily 
found in the chart on page 5. 

This volume deals with two epochs — the great pre- 
historic epochs, the Myth-making and the Homeric 



TO TEACHERS 



Ages and the years following, up to the first Olympiad. 
As a study of the Myth-making Age I have chosen to 
present some of the theories by great modern writers 
rather than a dictionary of mythology. This should be 
read in class and made the subject of reflection rather 
than memorized and recited. These authors also should 
receive some consideration. In dealing with the Iliad 
and Odyssey, I have selected those parts which present 
the most typical characters. 

To preserve the students' interest in literature, the 
teacher should run up and down the scale of history, 
selecting here and there such incidents or short pieces 
of literature as shall strengthen the points in the lesson. 
Or he may occasionally select a piece of literature to 
study, first as a w^ork of art and afterward to show its 
base in some earlier work, or else that it has no such 
relation but stands as an independent growth, a revela- 
tion of new geographic or historic conditions. 

M. E. B. 



TABLE OF CONTEXTS. 

PAGE. 

Chap. I. Origin of the Myth According to Ruskin, 11 

II. Origin of the Myth Continued, . . .46 

III. Different Theories of the Myth, . 02 

IV. Carlyle's Theory of the Myth, . . 89 
V. The Story of the Iliad, . . . . 127 

VI. Character of Achilles, . . . .138 

VII. Character of Achilles Continued, . 159 

'VIII. Character of Achilles Continued, . .189 

IX. Character of Ulysses, . . . . 215 

X. Selections from the Odyssey, . . .219 

XI. Selections from the Odyssey, ... 234 

XII. Selections from the Odyssey, Book til, . 243 

"XIII. Selections from the Odyssey, . . . 26o 

'XIV. Criticisms on "The Women of Homer." by 

J. Addington Symonds, .... 283 
1 XV. The Period between Homer and the First 

Olympiad— 1000 B. C. to 776 B. C, . 287 



The Worlds Literature. 



THE MYTH-MAKING AGE. 



CHAPTER I. 

The Origin of the Myth. 
How we came to be what we are is one of the most 
important lessons literature can teach us. How we may 
decide what we shall be is one of the most 

Introduction. 

important judgments growing out of that 
lesson. "A being satisfied with the world of sense, 
unconscious of its finite nature, undisturbed by the 
limited or negative nature of sense perception, would 
perhaps be incapable of any religious conception," says 
Max Miiller. In the same sense, the student of litera- 
ture who cares only to prepare for an examination or to 
have an extensive knowledge of authors and their 
works, would perhaps be undisturbed by the limited 
and negative nature of literature when considered 
merely as fine writing. 

The student who is conscious of the emptiness of 
Literature, except as it opens up the education of the 
race, the emptiness of all words except as a revelation 
of the saving relation of man to man, the student who 
TheMyth-mak- cares for the growth of our thought and our 

language, for the development of reverence 
and worship, for the foundation of sciences, the begin- 
nings of philosophy, the first attempts at regulating 



12 THE W0RLD*S LITERATURE 

family life, and the origin of government, will look with 
reverent and searching eyes into the pages of history 
and literature which interpret the Myth-making Age. 

Mythology is an expression of the thought of the 

race in its infancy. It would be as foolish to apologize 

for presenting it to the student of Literature, 

No apology ne- . 

study r of f Myth e - as it would be foolish in a father to apolo- 
gize for noticing the first words lisped by his 
babe and seeking through them to assure himself of the 
intelligence back of them, or what intellectual vigor 
they prophesied for the future; as foolish as it would 
be for the physical scientist to apologize for presenting 
the germination of the plant as a study before present- 
ing another phase of its life dependent on germination. 
Nay, the apology would be due if Mythology were ig- 
nored and the student left to fall into the absurdity of 
trying to account for the lines of thought springing 
from Mythology without reference to their source. 
The reverence with which great writers have ap- 
proached this subject and the irreverence with which 
meaner writers treat it, are of themselves not only a won- 
derful study of the race, in its Myth-making Age, as seen 
through the eyes of great and of mean people, but also 
of man; in one case of man, undeveloped in thought; 
in the other case, of man at his best, man as a scientist, 
working out with great veneration the question, "What 
is truth?" 

John Ruskin, in his Queen of the Air, compels our 
admiration for himself as a searcher for truth as surely 
John Ruskin's as he rivets our interest to the subject of the 

YQ V6 1*61106 tor 

Mythology. origin of the myth. Here we realize Ruskin 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 13 

the man while we learn to recognize the majesty of the 
spirit of the goddess of wisdom. 

"I will not ask your pardon for endeavoring to interest you in 
the subject of Greek Mythology; but I must ask your permission 
to approach it in a temper differing from that in which it is fre- 
quently treated. We can not justly interpret the religion of any 
people, unless we are prepared to admit that we ourselves, as 
well as they, are liable to error in matters of faith; and that the 
convictions of others, however singular, may in some points have 
been well founded, while our own, however reasonable, may in 
some particulars be mistaken. You must forgive me, therefore, 
for not alway distinctively calling the creeds of the past ' supersti- 
tion' and the creeds of the present day 'religion'; as well as for 
assuming that a faith now confessed may sometimes be superficial. 
and that a faith long forgotten may once have been sincere. It 
is the task of the Divine to condemn the errors of antiquity and 
of the Philologist to account for them. I will only pray you to 
read with patience, and human sympathy, the thoughts of men 
who lived without blame in a darkness they could not dispel: 
and to remember that, whatever charge of folly may justly at- 
tach to the saying, 'There is no God,' the folly is prouder, deeper, 
and less pardonable, in saying, 'There is no God but for me.' 

A Myth, in its simplest definition, is a story with a meaning 
attached to it, other than it seems to have at first, and the fact 
The origin of tnat ** nas sucn a meanm £ I s generally marked by 
cor6ungto e " some of its circumstances being extraordinary, or, 
RusMn. m ^ ne common use f the word, unnatural. Thus, 

if I tell 3'ou that Hercules killed a water-serpent in the lake of 
Lerna, and if I mean, and you understand, nothing more than 
that fact, the story, whether true or false, is not a myth. But if 
by telling you this, I mean that Hercules purified the stagnation 
of many streams from deadly miasmata, my story, however 
simple, is a true myth. If I left the story in that simplicity, 
you would probably believe it and look for nothing beyond, so it 
would be wise in me to add some singular circumstances to sur- 
prise your attention; for instance, that the water-snake had 
several heads, which revived as fast as thev were killed, and 



14 the world's literature 

which poisoned even the foot that trod upon them as they slept. 
And in proportion to the fulness of intended meaning I should 
probably multiply the improbabilities. In proportion as I meant 
more, would I appear more absurd in my statement. But at last, 
if I should become unendurably significant, all practical persons 
would agree that I had been talking nonsense from the beginning, 
and never meant anything at all. It is just possible, however, 
that the story-teller may all along have meant nothing but what 
he said; and that incredible as the events appear, he himself liter- 
ally believed — and expected you also to believe — without any 
latent moral or history whatever. It is very necessary, too, in 
reading traditions of this kind, to determine first of all whether 
you are listening to a simple person, who is relating 

pher^tLWth what he belie ves to be true and what may, there- 
is an allegory; Mil T_ 
a fact, to the fore, possibly have been so to some extent, or 

simple-minded. 

whether you are listening to a reserved philosopher 
who is veiling a theory of the universe under the grotesque of a 
fairy tale. The first supposition is generally the more likely to 
be the right one; for simple and credulous people are, perhaps 
fortunately, more common than philosophers; and it is of the 
The Myth ex- highest importance that you should take their inno- 
sonwho 11 !^" cent testimony as it was meant, and not efface under 
lievesit. ^ graceful explanation which your cultivated in- 

genuity may suggest, either the evidence their story may contain 
(such as it is worth) of an extraordinary event having really taken 
place, or the unquestionable light which it will cast upon the 
character of the person by whom it was frankly believed. 

And to deal with Greek religion honestly, you must at once 
understand that this literal belief was, in the minds of the gen- 
The Myth a era * P eo Pl e > as deeply rooted as ours in the legends 
thec^mmcm to °^ our own sacrecl book; and that a basis of un- 
people, miraculous event was as little suspected, and an ex- 
planatory symbolism as rarely traced, by them as by us. The 
story of Hercules was to the Greek mind in its best days a tale 
about a real hero and a real monster. Not one in a thousand 
knew anything of the way in which the story had arisen, any 
more than the English peasant generally is aware of the plebian 
origin of St. George. Few persons traced any moral or symboli- 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 15 

cal meaning in the story, and the average Greek was as far from 
imagining any interpretation like that I have given you as an 
average Englishman is from seeing in St. George the Red Cross 
Knight of Spenser, or in the Dragon the spirit of infidelity. But 
for all that, there was a certain undercurrent of consciousness in 
all minds, that the figures meant more than they at first showed; 
and, according to each man's own faculties of sentiment, he 
judged and read them; just as a Knight of the Garter reads more 
in the jewel on his collar than the George and Dragon of a public- 
house expresses to the host or to his customers. Thus, to the 
mean person the myth always meant little; to the noble person, 
much; and the greater their familiarity with it, the more con- 
temptible it became to the one, and the more sacred to the other; 
until vulgar commentators explained it entirely away while Vir- 
gil made it the crowning glory of his choral hymn to Hercules. 

And although, in any special toil of the hero's life, the moral 
interpretation was rarely with definiteness attached to its event. 
yet in the whole course of the life, not only a symbolical meaning, 
but the warrant for the existence of a real spiritual power, was 
apprehended of all men. Hercules was no dead hero to be re- 
membered only as a victor over monsters of the past — harmless 
now, as slain. He was the perpetual type and mirror of heroism, 
and its present and living aid against every ravenous form of 
human trial and pain. 

But if we seek to know more than this, and to ascertain the 
manner in which the story first crystallized into its shape, we 
The myth shall find ourselves led back generally to one or the 

tcScaAact^or other of two sources — either to actual historical 
a nature story. eventSj represented by the fancy under figures per- 
sonifying them; or else to natural phenomena similarly endowed 
with life by the imaginative power, usually more or less under 
the influence of terror. The historical myths w T e must leave the 
masters of history to follow; they, and the events they record, 
being yet involved in great, though penetrable and attractive mys- 
tery. But the stars, and hills, and storms are with us now, as 
they were with others of old; and it only needs that we look at 
them with the earnestness of those childish eyes to understand 
the first words spoken of them by the children of men. And 



16 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

then, in all the most beautiful and enduring myths, we shall find, 
not only a literal story of a real person — not only a parallel 
imagery of moral principle — but an underlying worship of natural 
phenomena, out of which have both sprung, and in which both 
forever remain rooted. Thus, from the real sun, rising and set- 
ting; from the real atmosphere, calm in its dominion of unfading 
blue, and fierce in its descent of tempest, the Greek forms the 
idea of two entirety personal and corporeal gods, whose limbs are 
Apoiio and clothed in divine flesh, and whose brows are crowned 
Athena. with divine beauty; yet so real that the quiver rat- 

tles at their shoulder, and the chariot bends beneath their weight, 
and collaterally with these corporeal images, and never for one 
instant separated -from them, he conceives also two omnipresent 
spiritual influences, of which one illuminates, as the sun, with a 
constant fire, whatever in humanity is skillful and wise; and the 
other, like the living air, breathes the calm of heavenly fortitude, 
and the strength of righteous anger, into every human breast that 
is pure and brave. 

Now, therefore, in nearly every myth of importance you 
have to discern these three structural parts — the root and the 
two branches: — the root, in physical existence, sun, ! 

The Myth based , A _ '- , . J .* 

on natural phe- sky, cloud, or sea; then the oersonal incarnation of 

nomena; real- . 

ized through that; becoming a trusted and companionable deitv 

the lmagina- ° ^ 

tion; ethical with whom you may walk hand in hand, as a chiia 

significance. * . * 

with its brother or its sister; and, lastly, the mora 
significance of the image, which is in all the great myths eter- 
nally and beneficently true. 

The great myths; that is to say, myths made by great people! 
For the first plain fact about myth-making is one which has been 
most strangely lost sight of, that you cannot make a myth unless 
you have something to make it of. You cannot tell a secret 
which you don't know. If the myth is about the sky, it must 
have been made by somebody who had looked at the sky. If the 
myth is about justice and fortitude it must have been made by 
some one who knew what it was to be just and patient. Accord- 
ing to the quantity of understanding in the person will be the 
quantity of significance in his fable; and the myth of a simple and 
ignorant race must necessarily mean little, because a simple and 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 1*7 

ignorant race have little to mean. So the great question in read- 
ing a story is always, not what wild hunter dreamed, or what 
childish race first dreaded it; but what wise man first perfectly 
told, and what strong people first perfectly lived by it. The real 
meaning of the myth is that which it has at the noblest age of 

the nation among whom it is current. The further- 
ing of the back you pierce, the less significance you will find, 

until you come to the first narrow thought, which 
indeed contains the germ of the accomplished tradition, but only 
as the seed contains the flower. As the intelligence and the pas- 
sion of the race develop, they cling to and nourish their beloved 
legend; leaf by leaf it expands under the touch of more pure 
affections and more delicate imagination, until the last perfect 
fable burgeons out into symmetry of milky stem and honied bell. 
But through whatever changes it may pass, remember that 
our right reading of it is wholly dependent on the materials we 
have in our own minds for an intelligent answering sympathy. 
If it first arose among a people who dwelt under stainless skies, 
and measured their journeys by ascending and declining stars, 
we certainly can not read their story, if we have never seen any- 
thing above us in the day but smoke; nor anything round us in 
the night but candles. If the tale goes on to change clouds or 
Nobleness of planets into living creatures — to invest them with 
qu^e^fo? the ^ a * r forms — and inflame them with mighty passions, 
o?The|rISt ion we can onl y understand the story of the human- 
Myths, hearted things, in so far as we ourselves take pleas- 
ure in the perfectness of visible form, or can sympathize, by an 
effort of imagination, with the strange people who had other 
loves than that of wealth, and other interests than those of com- 
merce. And, lastly, if the myth complete itself to the fulfilled 
thoughts of the nation, by attributing to the gods, whom they 
have carved out of their fantasy, continual presence with their 
own souls; and their every effort for good is finally guided by the 
sense of the companionship, the praise and the pure will of Im- 
mortals, we shall be able to follow them into this last circle 
of their faith only in the degree in which the better parts of our 
own beings have been also stirred by the aspects of nature, or 
strengthened by her laws. It may be easy to prove that the 



18 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

ascent of Apollo in his chariot signifies nothing but the rising of 
the sun. But what does the sunrise itself signify to us? If only 
languid return to frivolous amusement, or fruitless labor, it will, 
indeed, not be easy for us to conceive the power over a Greek of 
the name of Apollo. But if, for us also, as for the Greek, the 
sunrise means daily restoration to the sense of passionate glad- 
ness and of perfect life — if it means the thrilling of new strength 
through every nerve — the shedding over us of a better peace than 
the peace of night, in the power of the dawn — and the purging 
of evil vision and fear by the baptism of its dew; if the sun it- 
self is an influence to us also of spiritual good — and becomes thus 
in reality, not in imagination, to us also, a spiritual power — we 
may then soon over-pass the narrow limit of conception which 
kept that power impersonal, and rise with the Greek to the 
thought of an angel who rejoiced as a strong man to run his 
course, whose voice, calling to life and to labor, rang round the 
earth, and whose going forth was to the ends of the heaven. 

The time, then, at which I shall take up for you, as well as I 
can decipher it, the traditions of the gods of Greece, shall be near 
The age from the beginning of its central and formed faith — about 
^ h e iC G h ree^ udge 500 B. C— a faith of which the character is per- 
Myth ' fectly represented by Pindar and iEschylus, who 

are both of them out-spokenly religious and entirely sincere men; 
while we may always look back to find the less developed 
thought of the preceding epoch given by Homer, in a more 
occult, subtle, half-instinctive and involuntary way. 

Now at that culminating period of the Greek religion we find, 
under one governing Lord of all things, four subordinate element- 
al forces, and four spiritual powers living in them and com- 
manding them. The elements are, of course, the well-known four 
The four forces of the ancient world — the earth, the water, the fire, 
wh?ch U my l t£s n an0 ^ the au " ano ^ tne living powers of them are 
are based. Demeter, the Latin Ceres; Poseidon, the Latin Nep- 

tune; Apollo, who has always retained his Greek name; and 
Athena, the Latin Minerva. Each of these are descended from, 
or changed from, more ancient, and therefore more mystic, dei- 
ties of the earth and heaven, and of a finer element of aether sup- 
posed to be beyond the heavens; but at this time we find the four 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 19 

quite definite, both in their kingdoms and in their personalities. 
They are the rulers of the earth that we tread upon, and the air 
that we breathe, and are with us as closely, in their vivid hu- 
manity, as the dust that they animate and the winds that they 
bridle. 

The rule of the first spirit, Demeter, the earth mother, is over 
the earth, first, as the origin of all life — the dust from whence 
we were taken; secondly, as the receiver of all things back at 
last into silence — 'Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou re- 
turn.' And, therefore, as the most tender image of this appear- 
ing and fading life, in the birth and fall of flowers, her daughter 
The earth- Proserpine plays in the fields of Sicily, and thence 
(goddess of the is torn away into darkness and becomes the Queen 
erpme, goddess of Fate — not merelv of death, but of the £l om 

of Spring. 

which closes over and ends not beauty only, but 
sin; and chiefly of sins, the sin against the life she gave, so that 
she is, in her highest power, Persephone, the avenger and puri- 
fier of blood, — * The voice of thy brother's blood cries to me out 
of the ground.'* 

Then, side by side with this queen of the earth, we find a 
demi-god of agriculture! by the plough, the lord of grain or of 
_. . + , the thing ground bv the mill. And it is a singular 

Tnptolemos. c e ° 

proof of the simplicity of Greek character at this 
noble time, that of all representations left to us of their deities by 
their art, few are so frequent and none so beautiful as the sym- 
bol of this spirit of agriculture. 

Then the dominant spirit of the element of water is Neptune, 
but subordinate to him are myriads of other water spirits, of 
whom Nereus is chief. Spiritually, this king of the waters is 

*As queen of the lower regions, Proserpine had control over 
the Furies, whose occupation was to avenge murder. 

fWhen Pluto carried off her beloved daughter, Ceres, with a 
mother's sorrow, lit her torch, and mounting her car, drawn by 
winged snakes, searched, through every land for her child. 
Wherever she was kindly received she left her blessing in the 
form of instruction in the art of agriculture. Not far from Ath- 
ens she was received with the greatest hospitality, and here she 
left her richest blessing by endowing the king's son, Triptolemos, 
with divine powers of instruction, that he might traverse all 
lands, teaching men to sow and utilize grain, and so extend agri- 
culture. 



20 

lord of the strength and daily flow of human life — 

Water as a , . . 

basis for he gives it material force and victory; which is the 

myths. 

meaning of the dedication of the hair as the sign of 
the strength of life, to the river of the native land. 

Demeter, then, over the earth, and its giving and receiving of 
life; Neptune over the waters, and the flow and force of life, — 
always among the Greeks typified by the horse, which was tc 
them as a crested sea-wave, animated and bridled. Then the 
third element, fire, has set over it two powers: over earthly fire. 

the assistant of human labor, is set Hephaestus, lord 

Vulcan and . . 

Apoiio, gods of all labor in which is the flush and the sweat ot 

of fire. 

the brow; and over heavenly fire, the source of day, 
is set Apollo, the spirit of all kindling, purifying, and illuminat- 
ing intellectual wisdom; each of these gods having also their sub- 
ordinate or associated powers — servant, or sister, or companion 
muse. 

Then, lastly we come to the myth which is to be our subject 
of closer inquiry — the story of Athena and of the deities subor- 
Athena god- dinate to her. This great goddess, the Minerva of 
and that which tne Latins, is, physically, the queen of the air; hav- 
it typifies. j n g SU p reme power both over its blessing of calm, and 

wrath of storm; and, spiritually, she is the queen of the breath of 
man, first of the bodily breathing, which is life to his blood, and 
strength to his arm in battle; and then of the mental breathing, 
or inspiration, which is his moral health and habitual wisdom; 
wisdom of conduct and of the heart, as opposed to the wisdom of 
imagination and the brain; moral, as distinct from intellectual; 
inspired, as distinct from illuminated. 

By a singular and fortunate, though I believe wholly accident- 
al coincidence, the heart-virtue, of which she is the spirit, was 
separated by the ancients into four divisions, which have since 
obtained acceptance from all men as rightly discerned, and have 
received, as if from the quarters of the four winds of which 
Athena is the natural queen, the name of 'Cardinal' virtues: 
namely, Prudence, (the right seeing, and foreseeing, of events 
through darkness); Justice, (the righteous bestowal of favor and 
of indignation); Fortitude, (patience under trial by pain); and 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 21 

\thena the Temperance, (patience under trial by pleasure.) 
cKd£lJ >fthe With respect to these four virtues, the attributes of 
virtues. Athena are all distinct. In her prudence, or sight 

in darkness, she is ' Glaukopis,' 'owl-eyed.' In her justice, 
which is the dominant virtue, she wears two robes, one of light 
and one of darkness: the robe of light, saffron color, or the color 
of the daybreak, falls to her feet, covering her wholly with favor 
and love, — the calm of the sky in blessing; it is embroidered along 
its edge with her victoiy over the giants, (the troublous powers 
of the earth), and the likeness of it was woven }'earh T by the 
Athenian maidens and carried to the temple of their own Athena, 
— not to the Parthenon, that was the temple of all the world's 
Athena, — but this they carried to the temple of their own only 
one, who loved them and stayed with them always. Then her 
robe of indignation is worn on her breast and left arm only, 
fringed with fatal serpents, and fastened with Gorgonian gold, 
turning men to stone; physically, the lightning and the hail of 
chastisement by storm. Then in her fortitude she wears the 
crested and unstooping helmet; and lastly, in her temperance, 
she is the queen of maidenhood — stainless as the air of heaven. 

But all these virtues mass themselves in the Greek mind into 
the two main ones — of Justice, or noble passion, and Fortitude, 
or noble patience; and of these, the chief powers of Athena, the 
Aehuies and Greeks had divinely written for them, and for all 
uiysses. men a f ter them, two mighty songs, — one, of the 

Menis,* mens, passion or zeal, of Athena, breathed into a mortal 
whose name is 'Ache of heart,' and whose short life is only the 
incarnate brooding and burst of storm; and the other is of the 
foresight and fortitude of Athena, maintained by her in the heart 
of a mortal whose name is given to him from a longer grief, 
Odysseus, the full of sorrow, the much-enduring, and the long- 
suffering. 

The minor expressions by the Greeks in w r ord, in symbol, and 
in religious service, of this faith, are so many and so beautiful, 
that T hope some day to gather at least a few of them into a separ- 

*This first word of the Iliad. Menis, afterwards passes into the 
Latin Mens; is the root of the Latin name for Athena, " Minerva," 
and so of the English "mind." 



22 the world's literature 

ate body of evidence respecting the power of Athena, and its re- 
lations to the ethical conception of the Homeric poems, or, rather, 
to their ethical nature; for they are not conceived 

Athena, a di- .. ,. 

dactic force in didactically, but are didactic in their essence, as all 

art. 

good art is. There is an increasing insensibility to 
this character, and even an open denial of it, among us, now, 
which is one of the most curious errors of modernism, — the pecu- 
liar and judicial blindness of an age which, having long practiced 
art and poetry for the sake of pleasure only, has become in- 
capable of reading their language when they were both didactic: 
and also having been itself accustomed to a professedly didactic 
teaching, which yet, for private interests, studiously avoids col- 
lision with every prevalent vice of its day, (and especially with 
avarice), has become equally dead to the intensely ethical con- 
ceptions of a race which habitually divided all men into two 
broad classes of worthy or worthless; — good, and good for nothing. 
And even the celebrated passage of Horace about the Iliad is now 
misread or disbelieved, as if it was impossible that the Iliad could 
be instructive because it is not like a sermon. Horace does not 
say that it is like a sermon, and would have been still less likely 
to say so, if he ever had had the advantage of hearing a sermon. 
' ' I have been reading that story of Troy again" (thus he writes to a 
noble youth of Rome whom he cared for), "quietly at Praeneste, 
while you have been busy at Rome; and truly I think that what 
is base and what is noble, and what useful and useless, may be 
better learned from that, than from all Chrysippus' and Crantor's 
talk put together." Which is profoundly true, not of the Iliad 
ah reat on ly> Dut of all other great art whatsoever; for all 

teac^some* pieces of such art are didactic in the purest way. 
great lesson. indirectly and occultly, so that, first, you shall only 
be bettered by them if you are already hard at work in bettering 
yourself; and when you are bettered by them, it shall be partly 
with a general acceptance of their influence, so constant and sub- 
tle that you shall be no more conscious of it than of the healthy 
digestion of food; and partly by a gift of unexpected truth, which 
you shall only find by slow mining for it; — which is withheld on 
purpose, and close-locked, that you may not get it till you have 
forged the key of it in a furnace of your own heating. And this 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 23 

withholding of their meaning is continual, and confessed in the 
great poets. Thus Pindar* says of himself: "There is many an 
arrow in my quiver, full of speech to the wise, but, for the many 
they need interpreters." And neither Pindar, nor JEschylus,f 
nor Hesiod, nor Homer, nor any of the greater poets or teachers 
of any nation or time, ever spoke but with- intentional reserva- 
tion; nay, beyond this, there is often a meaning which they 
themselves cannot interpret, — which it may be for ages long after 
them to interpret, — in what they said, so far as it recorded true 
imaginative vision. For all the greatest myths have been seen, 
by the men who tell them, involuntarily and passively, — seen by 
them with as great distinctness (and in some respects, though 
not in all, under conditions as far beyond the control of their will) 
as a dream sent to any of us by night when we dream clearest ; 
and it is this veracity of vision that could not be refused, and of 
moral that could not be foreseen, which in modern historical in- 
quiry has been left wholly out of account: being indeed the thing 
which no merely historical investigator can understand, or even 
believe; for it belongs exclusively to the creative or artistic group 
of men, and can only be interpreted by those of their race, who 
themselves in some measure also see visions and dream dreams. 

So that you may obtain a more truthful idea of the nature 
of Greek religion and legend from the poems of Keats, and 
The reality of the nearly as beautiful, and, in general grasp of 
myth explained subject, far more powerful, recent work of Morris, 
S recent 1 mgs than from frigid scholarship, however extensive. 
Xot that the poet's impressions or renderings of 
things are wholly true, but their truth is vital, not formal. 
They are like sketches from the life by Reynolds or Gainsbor- 
ough, which may be demonstrably inaccurate or imaginary in 
many traits, and indistinct in others; yet will be in the deepest 
sense like and true; while the work of historical analysis is too 
often weak with loss through the very labor of its miniature 

*Pindar, the father of lyric verse, was born about 522 B. C. 
He lived at Thebes and spoke of it as his native place. Because his 
odes were so sweet it is said that multitudes of honey bees settled 
on his lips when an infant. 

t^Eschylus was the greatest of many writers of tragedy living 
at the same time with Pindar. 



24 the world's literature 

touches, or useless in clumsy and vapid veracity of externals, 
and complacent security of having done all that is required for 
the portrait, when it has measured the breadth of the forehead 

and the length of the nose. 

The first of requirements, then, for the right reading of 
myths, is the understanding of the nature of all true vision by 
noble persons; namely, that it is founded on constant laws com- 
mon to all human nature; that it perceives, however darkly, 
things which are for all ages true; — that we can only understand 
it so far as we have some perception of the same truth, — and 
that its fullness is developed and manifested more and more by 
the reverberation of it from minds of the same mirror-temper, in 
succeeding ages. You will understand Homer better by seeing 
his reflection in Dante, as you may trace new forms and softer 
colors in a hill-side, redoubled by a lake. 

I shall be able partly to show you how much, in the Homeric 
vision of Athena, has been made clearer by the advance of 
Ruskin plans to time, being thus essentially and eternally true; 
myth, Athena, but I must in the outset indicate the relation to 
tingTm com 1 " that central thought of the imagery of the in- 

trast with the „ ., . . . „ . 

wind myths, ferior deities or storm. 

the Harpies, ' And first I will take the myth of iEolus* (the 

Hermes, and so . 

on. ' sage Hippotades of Milton), as it is delivered 

pure by Homer from the early times. 

Why do you suppose Milton calls him ' sage ' ? One does 
not usually think of the winds as very thoughtful or deliberate 
powers. But hear Homer: 'Then we came to the iEolian 
island, and there dwelt iEolus Hippotades, dear to the deathless 
gods; there he dwelt in a floating island, and around it was a 
wall of brass that could not be broken; and the smooth rock of it 
ran up sheer. To whom twelve children were born in the sacred 
chambers — six daughters and six strong sons; and they dwell 
The myth of f or ever with their beloved father and their mother 
in th? Odyssey 1 strict in duty; and with them are laid up a thousand 
explained. benefits; and the misty house around them rings 

*iEoms, the god of the winds and king of the volcanic islands off 
the coast of Italy, now called the Lipari Islands, in the caverns of 
which the winds were supposed to be confined. 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 



with fluting all the day long/ Now, you are to note, first, in 
this description, the wall of brass and the sheer rock. You will 
find, throughout the fables of the tempest-group, that the brazen 
wall and precipice (occurring in another myth as the brazen 
tower of Danae), are always connected with the idea of the tow- 
ering cloud lighted by the sun, here truly described as a floating 
i si and. Secondly, you hear that all treasures were laid up in 
them; therefore }'ou know this iEolus is lord of the beneficent 
winds ( ; he bringeth the wind out of his treasuries ' ) ; and 
presently afterwards Homer calls him the ' steward ' of the 
winds, the master of the storehouse of them. And this idea of 
gifts and preciousness in the winds of heaven is carried out in the 
well-known sequel of the fable — iEolus gives them to Ulysses, 
all but one, bound in leathern bags, with a glittering cord of sil- 
ver; and so like bags of treasure that the sailors think they are 
so, and open them to see. And when Ulysses is thus driven 
back to iEolus, and prays him again to help him, note the delib- 
erate words of the king's refusal: 'Did I not,' he says, 'send 
thee 'on thy way heartily, that thou mightest reach thy country, 
thy home, and whatever is dear to thee? It is not lawful for me 
again to send forth favorably on his journey a man hated by the 
happy gods.' This idea of the beneficence of iEolus remains to 
the latest times, though Virgil, by adopting the vulgar change of 
the cloud island into Lipari, has lost it a little; but even when it 
is finally explained away by Diodorus, IEolus is still a kind- 
hearted monarch, who lived on the coast of Sorrento, invented 
the use of sails and established a system of storm signals. 

Another beneficent storm-power, Boreas,* occupies an import- 
ant place in early legend, and a singularly principal one in art ; 
and I wish I could read to you a passage of Plato about the 
legend of Boreas and Oreithyia, and the breeze and shade of the 
Ilissus — notwithstanding its severe reflection upon persons who 

*Boreas, the north wind, carried off Oreithyia, the beautiful 
daughter of a king of Attica. When the Athenians were in sore 
distress during a Persian war, they called upon Boreas for aid. and 
a terrible north wind soon destroyed the Persian fleet. From that 
time the Athenians had an altar to him and offered sacrifices for 
their preservation, The scene of Boreas carrying off the princess 
is represented on a beautiful bronze relief found at Calymna. and 
now in the British Museum. 



26 the world's literature 

waste their time on mythological studies; but 1 must go on at 

once to the fable with which you are all generally familiar, that 

of the Harpies.* 

This is always connected with that of Boreas or the north 

wind, because the two sons of Boreas are enemies of the Harpies, 

The h sicai and drive them away into frantic flight. The myth 

phenomenon j n its first literal form means only the battle be- 
on which the J 

basec? mythis tween the fair north wind and the foul south one: 
the two Harpies, 'Stormswift' and 'Swiftfoot,' 
are the sisters of the rainbow — that is to say, they are the broken 
drifts of the showery south wind, and the clear north wind 
drives them back; but they quickly take a deeper and more 
malignant significance. You know the short, violent, spiral 
gusts that lift the dust before coming rain; the Harpies get iden- 
tified first with these, and then with more violent whirlwinds, 
and so they are called 'Harpies,' 'the Snatchers,' and are 
thought of as entirely destructive; their manner of destroying 
being twofold — by snatching away, and by defiling and pollut- 
ing. The first time that there is threatening of rain after two 
or three days of fine weather, leave your window well open 
to the street, and some books or papers on the table; and if you 
do not in a little while know what the Harpies mean, and how 
they snatch, and how they defile, I'll give up my Greek myths. 
That is the physical meaning. It is now easy to find the 
mental one. You must ail have felt the expression of ignoble 
anger in those fitful gusts of sudden storm. There is a sense of 
provocation and apparent bitterness of purpose in their thin and 
senseless fury, wholly different from the noble anger of the 
greater tempests. Also, they seem useless and unnatural, and 
the Greek thinks of them always as vile in malice, and opposed, 
therefore, to the sons of Boreas, who are kindly winds, that fill 
sails, and wave harvests, — full of bracing health and happy im- 



*The Harpies were creatures having the body of a bird and the 
head of a woman. Probably they were originally goddesses of the 
storm, which carries everything along with it. They were three 
in number. Their office was to punish crime. This they did by 
spoiling the food of their victims, or else by carrying it off or by 
devouring it. 



ORIGIN" OF THE MYTH 2*7 

pulses. From this lower and merely malicious tem- 
the mental per, the Harpies rise into a greater terror, always 

world. l L e . 

associated with their whirling motion, which is in- 
deed indicative of the most destructive winds, and they are thus 
related to the nobler tempests, as Charybdis to the sea; they are 
devouring and desolating, merciless, making all things disappear 
that come in their grasp; and so, spiritually, they are the gusts 
of vexatious fretful, lawless passion, vain and overshadowing, 
discontented and lamenting, meagre and insane, — spirits of 
wasted energy, and wandering disease, and unappeased famine, 
and unsatisfied hope. So you have, on the one side, the winds of 
prosperity and health, on the other, of ruin and sickness. Under- 
stand that, once, deeply — any who have ever known the weariness 
of vain desires; the pitiful, unconquerable, coiling and recoiling 
and self-involved returns of some sickening famine and thirst of 
heart: — and you will know what was in the sound of the Harpy 
Oelaeno's shriek from her rock; and why, in the seventh circle of 
the 'Inferno.' the Harpies make their nests in the warped 
branches of the trees that are the souls of suicides. 

Now you must always be prepared to read Greek legends as 
you trace threads through figures on a silken damask; the same 
thread runs through the web, but it makes part of different fig- 
ures. Joined with other colors you hardly recognize it, and in 
different lights, it is dark or light. Thus the Greek fables blend 
and cross curiously in different directions, till they knit themselves 
into an arabesque where sometimes you cannot tell black from pur- 
ple, nor blue from emerald — they being all the truer for this, be- 
cause the truths of emotion they represent are interwoven in the 
same way, but all the more difficult to read, and to explain in 
any order. Thus the Harpies, as they represent vain desire, 
are connected with the Sirens, who are the spirits of 

The Harpy, a x 

symbol of vain constant desire; so that it is difficult sometimes in 

desire. 

early art to know which are meant, both being rep- 
resented alike as birds with women's heads; only the Sirens are 
the great constant desires — the infinite sicknesses of heart — which, 
rightly placed, give life, and wrongly placed, waste it away; so 
that there are two groups of Sirens, one noble and saving, as the 
other is fatal. But there are no animating or saving Harpies; 



28 the world's literature 

their nature is always vexing and full of weariness, and thus they 
are curiously connected with the whole group of legends about 
Tantalus. 

We all know what it is to be tantalized; but we do not often 
think of asking what Tantalus* was tantalized for — what he had 
done, to be forever kept hungry in sight of food? Well; he had 
Glutton as not been conclemned to .this merely for being a glut- 
tKe n myth ed in ton * ^ 7 Dante the same punishment is assigned to 
simple gluttony to purge it away; — but the sins of 
Tantalus were of a much wider and more mysterious kind. There 
are four great sins attributed to him — one, stealing the food of 
the Gods to give it to men; another, sacrificing his son to feed the 
Gods themselves; another sin is, telling the secrets of the Gods; 
and only the fourth — stealing the golden dog of Pandareos — is 
connected with gluttony. The special sense of this myth is 
marked by Pandareos receiving the happy privilege of never 
being troubled with indigestion; the dog, in general, however, 
mythically represents all utterly senseless and carnal desires; 
mainly that of gluttony; and in the mythic sense of Hades — that 
is to say, so far as it represents spiritual ruin in this life, and not 
a literal hell — the dog Cerberus is its gate-keeper — with this 
special marking of his character of sensual passion, that he fawns 
on all those who descend, but rages against all who would return. 

The story of Actaeon, the raging death of Hecuba, and the 
tradition of the white dog which ate part of Hercules' first sacri- 
fice, and so gave name to the Cynosarges, are all various phases 
of the same thought — the Greek notion of the clog being through- 
out confused between its serviceable fidelity, its watchfulness, its 
foul voracit} T , shamelessness and deadly madness, while, with 
the curious reversal or recoil of the meaning which attaches it- 
self to nearly every great myth — and which we shall presently see 
notably exemplified in the relations of the serpent to Athena — 
the dog becomes in philosophy a type of severity and abstinence. 

*Tantalus, a king of Phrygia, had offended the gods through his 
pride as well as the cruelty which he practiced on his son, for 
which he was punished by being sent to Tartarus, there to suffer 
a gnawing hunger which he vainly tried to satisfy with the tempt- 
ing fruits which hung over his head, ever receding when he reached 
out for them, and although he stood in water up to his throat, yet 
he could never quench his thirst. 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 29 

It would carry us too far aside were I to tell you the story of 
Pandareos' dog — or, rather, of Jupiter's dog, for Pandareos was 
its guardian only. All that bears on our present purpose is that 
the guardian of this golden dog had three daughters, one of 
whom was subject to the power of the Sirens, and is turned into 
the nightingale; and the other two were subject to the power of 
the Harpies, and this was what happened to them. They were 
very beautiful, and they were beloved by the gods in their youth, 
and all the great goddesses were anxious to bring them up 
rightly. Of all types of young ladies' education, there is noth- 
ing so splendid as that of the younger daughters of Pandareos. 
They have literally the four greatest goddesses for their govern- 
esses. Athena teaches them domestic accomplishments; how to 
weave, and sew, and the like; Artemis* teaches them to hold 
themselves up straight; Heraf how to behave proudly and op- 
pressively to company; and Aphrodite:): — delightful governess — 
feeds them with cakes and honey all day long. All goes well, 
until just the time when they are going to be brought out; then 
there is a great dispute whom they are to many, and in the 
midst of it they are carried off by the Harpies, given by them to 
be slaves to the Furies, and never seen more. But of course 
there is nothing in Greek myths; and one never heard of such 
things as vain desires, and empty hopes, and clouded passions, 
defiling and snatching away the souls of maidens, in a London 
season. 

I have no time to trace for you any more harpy legends, 
though they are full of the most curious interest; but I may con- 
firm for you my interpretation of this one, and prove its import- 
ance in the Greek mind, by noting that Polygnotus painted these 
maidens in his great religious series of paintings at Delphi, 
crowned with flowers and playing at dice; and that Penelope re- 
members them in her last fit of despair, just before the return of 

*Artemis or Diana, a moon-goddess ; she was a great huntress, 
and gave security against the attacks of wild animals. 

tHera, or Juno, the wife of Zeus. The name seems to have 
meant, originally, "heavenly air." 

X Aphrodite, or Venus, the goddess of love. The legend is that 
she sprang from the foam of the sea; hence her name Aphros, 
(froth) , and Anadyomene (she who rises up) . 



30 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

Ulysses; and prays bitterly that she may be snatched away at 
once into nothingness by the Harpies, like Pandareos' daughters, 
rather than be tormented longer by her deferred hope, and 
anguish of disappointed love. 

I have hitherto spoken only of deities of the winds. We pass 
now to a far more important group, the Deities of Cloud. Both 
of these are subordinate to the ruling power of the air, as the 
demigods of the fountains and minor seas are to the great deep; 
but, as the cloud-firmament detaches itself from the air, and has 
a wider range of ministry than the minor streams and seas, the 
highest cloud deity, Hermes, has a rank more equal 
s^ows n Hermes with Athena than Nereus or Proteus with Neptune; 
and cloud de?ty, and there is greater difficulty in tracing his charac- 
compare him ter, because his physical dominion over the clouds 

with Athena. He „ . ' . .. , , , _ 

was themes- can, of course, be asserted only where clouds are; 

senger of the _ „ , „ . „ . . 

prods, and was and, therefore, scarcely at all in Egypt; so that the 

said to have in- . __ . 

vented the changes which Hermes undergoes in becoming a 

lyre. ° e ° 

Greek from an Egyptian and Phcenician god, are 
greater than in any other case of adopted tradition. In Egypt 
Hermes is a deity of historical record, and a conductor of the 
dead to judgment. The Greeks take away much of this histor- 
ical function, assigning it to the Muses; but, in investing him 
with the physical power over clouds, they give that which the 
Muses disdain, the power of concealment and of theft. The 
snatching away by the Harpies is with brute force, but the 
snatching away by the clouds is connected with the thought of 
hiding and of making things seem to be what they are not; so 
that Hermes is the god of lying, as he is of mist; and yet, with 
this ignoble function of making things vanish and disappear, is 
connected the remnant of his grand Egyptian authority of lead- 
ing away souls in the cloud of death (the actual dimness of sight 
caused by mortal wounds physically suggesting the darkness 
and descent of clouds, and continually being so described in the 
Iliad); while the sense of the need of guidance on the untrodden 
road follows necessarily. You cannot but remember how this 
thought of cloud guidance and cloud receiving of souls at death 
has been elsewhere ratified. 

Without following that higher clue, I will pass to the lovely 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 31 

group of myths connected with the birth of Hermes on the 
Greek mountains. 

Raskin then proceeds to describe Sparta in the month 
of May, with its mountain-tops veiled in mist, and he 
shows that Hermes' characteristics correspond to his 
physical environments. 

There, first cradled and wrapped in swaddling clothes; then 
raised., in a moment of surprise, into his wandering power — is 
born the shepherd of the clouds., winged-footed and deceiving — 
blinding the eyes of Argus — escaping from the grasp of Apollo — 
restless messenger between the highest sky and topmost earth — 
'the herald Mercury, new lighted on a heaven-kissing kill.' 

Now, it will be wholly impossible, at present, to trace for you 
any of the minor Greek expressions of this thought, except only 
that Mercury, as the cloud shepherd, is especially called Eriopho- 
ros, the wool-bearer. You will recollect the name from the 
common wooly rush ' eriophorum.* which has a cloud of silky 
seed; and note also that he wears distinctively the fiat cap, 
petasos, named from a word meaning to expand: which shaded 
from the sun, and is worn on journeys. You have the epithet of 
mountains * cloud capped ' as an established form with every 
poet, and the Mont Pilate of Lucerne is named from a Latin 
word signifying specially a woolen cap; but Mercury has, be- 
sides, a general Homeric epithet, curiously and intensely concen- 
trated in meaning, 'the profitable or serviceable by wool.' — that 
is to say, by shepherd wealth; hence, 'pecuniarily/ rich, or 
serviceable; and so he passes at last into a general mercantile 
deity, while yet the cloud sense of the wool is retained by Homer 
Hermes as a always, so that he gives him this epithet when it 
the P origin g o°f ' would otherwise have been quite meaningless, when 

the idea from , _. _ . , _ 

the winds driv- he drives Priam s chariot, and breathes force into 
clouds. his horses, precisely as we shall find Athena drive 

Diomed; and yet the serviceable and profitable sense — and some- 
thing also of gentle and soothing character in the mere wool- 
softness, as used for dress and religious rites — is retained also in 
the epithet, and thus the gentle and serviceable Hermes is op- 
posed to the deceitful one. 



32 the world's literature 

The name Hermes itself means impulse, and he is especially 
the shepherd of the flocks of the sky, in driving, or guiding, or 
stealing them; and yet his great name, Argeiphontes, not only — 
as in different passages of the olden poets — means 'Shining 
White,' which is said of him as being himself the silver cloud 
lighted by the sun; but 'Argus-Killer,' the killer of brightness, 
which is said of him as he veils the sky, and especially the stars, 
which are the eyes of Argus; or, literally, eyes of brightness, which 
Juno, who is, with Jupiter, part of the type of highest heaven, 
keeps in her peacock's train. We know that this interpretation 
is right, from a passage in which Euripides describes the shield 
of Hippomedon, which* bore for its sign, ' Argus the all-seeing, 
covered with eyes; open towards the rising of the stars, and 
closed towards their setting.' And thus Hermes becomes the 
spirit of the movement of the sky or firmament; not merely the 
fast flying of the transitory cloud, but the great motion of the 
heavens and stars themselves. 

The position in the Greek mind of Hermes as the Lord of cloud 

is, however, more mystic and ideal than that of any. other deity, 

just on account of the constant and real presence of 

cloud myth is the cloud itself under different forms, giving rise to 

of the effect all kinds of minor fables. The play of the Greek 

the clouds had 

on the Greek imagination in this direction is so wide and complex, 

imagination. 

that I cannot even give you an outline of its range 
in my present limits. There is first a great series of storm-legends 
connected with the family of the historic iEolus, ending in that 
of Phrixus and Helle*, and of the golden fleece (which is only 
the cloud-burden of Hermes Eriophoros). 

In the iEolic group, there is the legend of Sisyphus, which I 
mean to work out thoroughly by itself: its root is in the position 
of Corinth as ruling the isthmus and the two seas — the Corinthian 
Acropolis, two thousand feet high, being the centre of the cross- 

*Phrixus and Helle were children of iEolus. The shade of their 
mother, to save them from their step-mother, appeared to them 
bringing a large ram with a golden fleece, on whose back they 
should escape over the sea. Helle. fell from the ram's back into 
the strait, which was called Hellespont in consequence. Phrixus 
reached the other shore, offered the ram a sacrifice to Jupiter, and 
hung up the golden fleece in the temple of Mars. 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 33 

ing currents of the winds, and of the commerce of Greece. There- 
fore, Athena, and the fountain cloud Pegasus, are more closely 
connected with the Corinth than even with Athens in their ma- 
terial, though not in their moral power; and Sisyphus* founds 
the Isthmian games in connection with a melancholy story about 
the sea gods; but he himself is the most 'gaining' and subtle of 
men; who, having the key of the Isthmus, becomes the type of 
transit, transfer, or trade, as such: and of the apparent gain 
The origin and from it, which is not gain: and this is the real mean- 
the a myt?i of m © of his punishment in hell — eternal toil and re- 
sisyphus. coil ^ the moc | ern ic j i f ca pit a i being, indeed, the 

stone of Sisyphus with a vengeance, crushing in its recoil). But 
throughout, the old ideas of the cloud power and cloud feeble- 
ness, — the deceit of hiding, — and the emptiness of its vanishing, 
— the Autolycus enchantment of making black seem white, — 
and the disappointed fury of Ixionf (taking shadow for power), 
mingle in the moral meaning of this and its collateral legends; 
and give an aspect at last, not only of foolish cunning, but of 
impiety or literal 'idolatry," 'imagination worship,' to the 
dreams of avarice and injustice, until this notion of atheism and 
insolent blindness becomes principal; and the 'Clouds 'of Aris- 
tophanes, with the personified 'just' and 'unjust' sayings in 
the latter part of the play, foreshadow, almost feature by feature, 
in all that they were written to mock and to chastise, the worst 
elements of the impious tumult in men's thoughts, which have 
followed on their avarice in the present day, making them alike 
forsake the laws of their ancient gods, and misapprehend or reject 
the true words of their existing teachers. 

All this we have from the legends of the historic iEolus onl} T ; 
but, besides these, there is the beautiful story of Semele, the 
Mother of Bacchus. She is the cloud with the strength of the 
vine in its bosom, consumed by the light which matures the fruit; 

*Sisyphus w T as a Corinthian hero— punished for treachery by 
having to roll a huge stone up a height, which when it had gained 
the summit immediately rolled back. 

The motion of stones being rolled backward and forward by the 
waves of the sea may have been the physical basis of the story. 

tlxion, for wooing Hera, the w T ife of Zeus (or Jupiter), was 
bound to a winged wheel which revolved constantly. 



34 the world's literature 

the melting away of the cloud into the clear air at the fringe of 
its edges being exquisitely rendered by Pindar's epithet for her, 
Semele* 'with the stretched-out hair.' Then there is the entire 
tradition of the Danaides. and of the tower of Danaef and golden 
shower, the birth of Perseus connecting this legend with that of 
the Gorgons} and Graise, who are the true clouds of thunderous 
and ruinous tempest. I must, in passing, mark for you that 
other cloud the f° rm °f tne swor d or sickle of Perseus with 
myths. which he kills Medusa, is another image of the 

whirling Harpy vortex, and belongs especially to the sword of 
destruction or annihilation, whence it is given to the two angels 
who gather for destruction the evil harvest and evil vintage of 
the earth (Rev. xiv. 15). I will collect afterwards and complete 
what I have already written respecting the Pegasean and Gor- 
gonian legends, noting here only what is necessary to explain the 
central myth of Athena herself, who represents the ambient air. 
which included all cloud, and rain, and dew, and darkness, and 
peace, and wrath of heaven. Let me now try to give you, how- 
ever briefly, some distinct idea of the several agencies of this great 
goddess. 

I. She is the air giving life and health to all animals. 
II. She is the air giving vegetative power to the earth. 
III. She is the air giving motion to the sea, and rendering 

navigation possible. 
iy. She is the air nourishing artificial light, torch or lamp- 
light, as opposed to that of the sun on one hand, 
and of consuming fire on the other. 
V. She is the air conveying vibration of sound. 
I will give you instances of her agency in all these functions. 

*Semele, the mother of Bacchus, the god of the vine and its fruits. 

It is said that Hera being jealous of her caused her to seek the 
company of Zeus in all of his Olympian glory, when she was scorched 
to death by his lightnings. 

tDanae being hidden by her father in a strong tower that she 
might not be approached by any suitor in marriage, was discovered 
by Zeus, who entered the castle as a shower of golden sunbeams. 

JGorgons, three horrid aged women, similar to the furies. 
Medusa being the most terrible of them. 

The Graise were their guardians ; they were three in number also, 
with only one eye and one tooth for the common use of all three. 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 35 

First and chiefly, she is air as the spirit of life, giving vitality 
to the blood. Her psychic relation to the vital force in matter 
lies deeper, and we will examine it afterwards; but a great num- 
ber of the most interesting passages in Homer regard her as fly- 
ing over the earth in local and transitory strength, simply and 
merely the goddess of fresh air. 

It is curious that the British city which has somewhat sauc- 
ily styled itself the Modern Athens is indeed more under her 
especial tutelage and favor in this respect than perhaps any other 
town in the island. Athena is first simply what in the Modern 
Athens you so practically find her, the breeze of the mountain 
and the sea; and wherever she comes there is purification, and 
health, and power. The sea-beach round this isle of ours is the 
frieze of the Parthenon;* every wave that breaks on it thunders 
with Athena's voice; nay, whenever you throw your window 
wide open in the morning vou let in Athena, as 

The air we .,--,-,., ., • . 

breathe a sym- wisdom and fresh air at the same instant; and 

bol of Athena. 

whenever you draw a pure, long, full breath of 
right heaven, you take Athena into your heart, through your 
blood; and, with the blood, into the thoughts of your brain. 

Now, this giving of strength by the air, observe, is mechani- 
cal as well as chemical. You can not strike a good blow but 
with your chest full; and in hand to hand fighting, it is not the 
muscle that fails first, it is the breath; the longest-breathed will, 
on the average, be the victor — not the strongest. Note how 
Shakspeare always leans on this. Of Mortimer, in changing 
hardiment with great Glen dower: — 

'Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink, 
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood.' 

And again, Hotspur sending challenge to Prince Harry: — 

'That none might draw short breath to-day 
But I and Harry Monmouth.' 

Again, of Hamlet, before he receives his wound: — 

'He's fat, and scant of breath.' 
Again, Orlando in the wrestling: — 

'Yes ; I beseech your grace 

I am not yet well breathed.' 

^Parthenon was a temple to Athena. It was built for the Athe- 
nians by Phidias, under the direction of Pericles. It was 250 feet 
in length, and nearly 100 feet in breadth. 



36 the world's literature 

Now, of all people that ever lived the Greeks knew best what 
breath meant, both in exercise and in battle; and therefore the 
queen of the air becomes to them at once the queen of bodily 
strength in war; not mere brutal muscular strength — that belongs 
to Ares — but the strength of young lives passed in pure air and 
swift exercise. 

Now I will rapidly give you two or three instances of her 
direct agency in this function. First, when she wants to make 
Penelope bright and beautiful; and to do away with the signs of 
her waiting and her grief. ' Then Athena thought of another 
thing; she laid her into deep sleep, and loosed all her limbs, and 
made her taller, and made her smoother, and fatter, and whiter 
than swan ivory; and breathed ambrosial brightness over her 
Athena, a type ^ ace » an ^ so sne left her and went up to heaven.' 
strength in Fresh air and sound sleep at night, young ladies! 
You see you may have Athena for lady's maid when- 
ever you choose. Next, hark how she gives strength to Achilles 
when he is broken with fasting and grief. Jupiter pities him 
and says to her,— 'Daughter mine, are you forsaking your own 
soldier, and don't you care for Achilles any more? see how hun- 
gry and weak he is, — go and feed him with ambrosia.' So he 
urged the eager Athena; and she leaped down out of heaven like 
a Harpy falcon, shrill voiced; and she poured nectar and am- 
brosia full of delight, into the breast of Achilles, that his limbs 
might not fail with famine: then she returned to the solid dome 
of her strong father.' And then comes the great passage about 
Achilles arming — for which we have no time. But here is again 
Athena giving strength to the whole Greek army. She came as 
a falcon to Achilles, straight at him; — a sudden drift of breeze; 
but to the army she must come widely, — she sweeps round them 
all. 'As when jupiter spreads the purple rainbow over heaven, 
portending battle or cold storm, so Athena, wrapping herself 
round with a purple cloud, stooped to the Greek soldiers, and 
raised up each of them.' Note that purple, in Homer's use of it, 
nearly always means 'fiery,' 'full of light.' It is the light of the 
rainbow, not the color of it, which Homer means 3011 to think of. 

But the most curious passage of all, and fullest of meaning, 
is when she gives strength to Menelaus, that he may stand un- 



ORIGIN* OF THE MYTH 



wearied against Hector. He prays to her: 'And blue-eyed Athena 
was glad that he prayed to her first; and she gave him strength 
in his shoulders, and in his limbs, and she gave him the courage 
— of what animal, do you suppose? Had it been Neptune or 
Mars, they would have given him the courage of a bull, or a lion; 
but Athena gives him the courage of the most fearless in attack 
of all creatures — small or great — and very small it is. but wholly 
incapable of terror — she gives him the courage of a fly. 

Now this simile of Homer's is one of the best instances I can 
give you of the way in which great writers seize truths uncon- 
sciously which are for all time. It is only recent science which 
has completely shown the perfectness of this minute symbol of 
the power of Athena; proving that the insect's flight and breath 
are co-ordinated; that its wings are actually forcing-pumps, of 
which the stroke compels the thoracic respiration: and that it 
thus breathes and flies simultaneously by the action of the same 
muscles, so that respiration is carried on most vigor- 
boi of Athena's ously during flight, * while the air-vessels, supplied 
by many pairs of lungs instead of one. traverse the 
the organs of flight in far greater numbers than the capillary 
blood-vessels of our own system, and give enormous and untiring 
muscular power, a rapidity of action measured by thousands of 
strokes in the minute, and an endurance, by miles and hours of 
flight.' 

Homer could not have known this; neither that the buzzing 
of the fly was produced as in a wind instrument, by a constant 
current of air through the trachea. But he had seen, and, doubt- 
less, meant us to remember, the marvellous strength and swift- 
ness of the insect's flight (the glance of the swallow itself is 
clumsy and slow compared to the darting of common house-flies 
at play); he probably attributed its murmur to the wings, but in 
this also there was a type of what we shall presently find recog- 
nized in the name of Pallas, — the vibratory power of the air to 
convey sound. — while, as a purifying creature, the fly holds its 
place beside the old symbol of Athena in Egypt, the vulture: 
and as a venomous and tormenting creature, has more than the 
strength of the serpent in proportion to its size, being thus en- 
tirely representative of the influence of the air both in purifica- 



38 the world's literature 

tion and pestilence; and its courage is so notable that, strangely 
enough, forgetting Homer's simile, I happened to take the fly for 
an expression of the audacity of freedom in speaking of quite 
another subject. Whether it should be called courage, or mere 
mechanical instinct, may be questioned, but assuredly no other 
animal exposed to continual danger, is so absolutely without sign 
of fear. 

You will, perhaps, have still patience to hear two instances, 
not of the communication of strength, but of the 

Athena as a 

personal personal agency of Athena as the air. When she 

agency. ° ^ 

comes down to help Diomed against Ares,* she does 
not come to fight instead of him, but she takes his charioteer's 
place. 

' She snatched the reins, she lashed with all her force. 
And full on Mars impelled the foaming horse.' 

Ares is the first to cast his spear; then, note this, Pope says — 

' Pallas opposed her hand, and caused to glance, 
Far from the car, the strong immortal lance.' 

She does not oppose her hand in the Greek — the wind could 
not meet the lance straight — she catches it in her hand, and 
throws it off. There is no instance in which a lance is so parried 
by a mortal hand in all the Iliad, and it is exactly the way the 
wind would parry it, catching it and turning it aside. If there 
are any good rifleshots here — they know something about Athe- 
na's parrying — and in old times the English masters of feathered 
artillery knew more yet. Compare also the turning of Hector's 
lance from Achilles — Iliad xx. 439. 

The last instance I will give you is as lovely as it is subtle. 
Throughout the Iliad, Athena is herself the will or Menis of 
Achilles. If he is to be calmed, it is she who calms him; if 
angered, it is she who inflames him. In the first quarrel with 
A.trides, when he stands at pause with the great sword half 
drawn, ■ Athena came from heaven and stood behind him, and 
caught him by the yellow hair.' Another god would have 
Athena as will stayed his hand upon the hilt, but Athena only lifts 
torce ' his hair. ' And he turned and knew her, and her 

*Ares, or Mars, a son of Zeus and Hera. Probably he was orig- 
inally the god of the storm and tempest. 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 39 

dreadful eyes shone upon him.' There is an exquisite tender- 
ness in this laying her hand upon his hair, for it is the talisman 
of his life, vowed to his own Thessalian river if he ever returned 
to its shore, and cast upon Patroclus' pile, so ordaining that 
there should be no return. 

The chemical Secondly — Athena is the air giving vegetative im- 
myth. pulses to the earth. She is the wind and the ram — 

and yet more the pure air itself, getting at the earth fresh turned 
by spade or plough — and, above all. feeding the fresh leaves; for 
though the Greeks knew nothing about carbonic acid, they did 
know that trees fed on the air. 

Athena as the Thirdly — Athena is the air in its power over the 

produces 11011 sea - On the earliest Panathenaic vase known — the 
Burgon ' vase in the British Museum — Athena has 
a dolphin on her shield. The dolphin has two principal meanings 
in Greek symbolism. It means, first, the sea; secondarily, the 
ascending and descending course of any of the heavenly bod- 
ies from one sea horizon to another. 

Fourthly — Athena is the air nourishing artificial light — un- 
consuming fire. Therefore, a lamp was always kept burning in 
the Erechtheum; and the torch-race belongs chiefly to her festi- 
val, of which the meaning is to show the danger of the perishing 
of the light even by excess of the air that nourishes it; and so 
that the race is not to the swift, but to the wise. The household 
use of her constant light is symbolized in the lovely passage in the 
Odyssey, where Ulysses and his son move the armor while the 
Athena as typi- servants are shut in their chambers and there is no 

fled bv artifl- 

ciai light. one to hold torches for them; but Athena herself, 

• having a golden lamp.' fills all the rooms with light. Her 
presence in war-strength with her favorite heroes is always shown 
by the ! unwearied ' fire hovering on their helmets and shields; 
and the image gradually becomes constant and accepted, both for 
the maintenance of household watchfulness, as in the parable of 
the ten virgins, or as the symbol of direct inspiration, in the 
rushing wind and divided flames of Pentecost; but, together with 
this thought of unconsuming and constant fire, there is always 
mingled in the Greek mind the sense of the consuming by excess, 
as of the flame by the air, so also of the inspired creature by 



40 the world's literature 

its own fire (thus, again, 'the zeal of thine house hath eaten 
me up ' — ' my zeal hath consumed me, because of thine ene- 
mies,' and the like); and especially Athena has this aspect 
towards the truly sensual and bodily strength; so that to Ares, 
who is himself insane and consuming, the opposite wisdom 
seems to be insane and consuming: ' All we the other gods have 
thee against us, O Jove! when we would give grace to men; for 
thou hast begotten the maid without a mind — the mischievous 
creature, the doer of unseemly evil. All we obey thee, and are 
ruled by thee. Her only thou wilt not resist in anything she 
says or does, because thou didst bear her — consuming child as 
she is.' 

Lastly — Athena is the air, conveying vibration of sound. 

In all the loveliest representations in central Greek art of 
the birth of Athena, Apollo stands close to the sitting Jupiter, 
singing, with a deep, quiet joyfulness, to his lyre. The sun is 
always thought of as the master of time and rhythm, and as the 
origin of the composing and inventive discovery of melody; but 
the air, as the actual element and substance of the voice, the 
prolonging and sustaining power of it, and the symbol of its 
moral passion. Whatever in music is measured and designed be- 
longs therefore to Apollo and the Muses; whatever is impulsive 
and passionate to Athena; hence her constant strength of voice 
Athena as the or cry (as when she aids the shout of Achilles), 
duces nobfe™" curiously opposed to the dumbness of Demeter. 

music 

The Apolline lyre, therefore, is not so much the in- 
strument producing sound, as its measurer and divider by length 
or tension of string into given notes; and I believe it is, in a 
double connection with its office as a measurer of time or motion, 
and its relation to the transit of the sun in the sk}^, that Hermes 
forms it from the tortoise-shell, which is the image of the dap- 
pled concave of the cloudy sky. Thenceforward all the limiting 
or restraining modes of music belong to the Muses; but the pas- 
sionate music is wind music, as in the Doric flute. Then, when 
this inspired music becomes degraded in its passion, it sinks into 
the pipe of Pan and the double pipe of Marsyas, and is then re- 
jected by Athena. The myth which represents her doing so is 
that she invented the double pipe from hearing the hiss of the 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 41 

Gorgorian serpents; but when she played upon it, chancing to 
see her face reflected in the water, she saw that it was distorted, 
whereupon she threw down the flute, which Marsyas found. 
Then, the strife of Apollo and Marsyas represents the enduring 
• contest between music, in which the words and thought lead, 
and the lyre measures or melodizes them (which Pindar means 
when he calls his hymns ' kings over the lyre ' ), and music in 
which the words are lost, and the wind or impulse leads — gener- 
ally, therefore, between intellectual and brutal, or meaningless, 
music. Therefore, when Apollo prevails, he flays Marsyas, tak- 
ing the limit and external bond of his shape from him, which is 
death, without touching the mere muscular strength: yet shame- 
ful and dreadful in dissolution. 

And the opposition of these two kinds of sound is continually 
dwelt upon by the Greek philosophers, the real fact at the root of 
all their teaching being this, — that true music is the natural ex- 
pression of a lofty passion for a right cause; that in proportion 
to the kinglyness and force of any personality, the expression 
either of its joy or suffering becomes measured, chastened, calm, 
and capable of interpretation only by the majesty of ordered, 
beautiful and worded sound. Exactly in proportion to the de- 
gree in which we become narrow in the cause and conception of 
our passions, incontinent in the utterance of them, feeble of per- 
severance in them, sullied or shameful in the indulgence of them, 
their expression b}~ musical sound becomes broken, mean, fatuit- 
ous, and at last impossible; the measured waves of the air of 
heaven will not lend themselves to expression of ultimate vice, it 
must be forever sunk into discordance or silence. And since, as 
before stated, ever} T work of right art has a tendency to reproduce 
the ethical state which first developed it, this, which 
influence of of all the arts is most directly ethical in origin, is 
eomparedwith also the most direct in power of discipline; the first, 

the depraved . . . .. «..»,,. 

influence of the simplest, the most effective of all instruments of 

the vicious. . . 

moral instruction; while m the failure and betrayal 
of its functions, it becomes the subtlest aid of moral degradation. 
Music is thus, in her health, the teacher of perfect order, and is 
the voice of the obedience of angels, and the companion of the 
course of the spheres of heaven; and in her depravity she is also 



42 the avorld's literature 

the teacher of perfect disorder and disobedience, and the Gloria 
in Excelsis becomes the Marseillaise. In the third section of this 
volume, I reprint two chapters from another essay of mine, 
(• The Cestus of Aglaia*, ') on modest} 7 or measure, and on lib- 
erty, containing farther reference to music in her two powers;, 
and I do this now, because, among the many monstrous and mis- 
begotten fantasies which are the spawn of modern license, per- 
haps the most impishly opposite to the truth is the conception of 
music which has rendered possible the writing, by educated per- 
sons, and, more strangely yet, the tolerant criticism, of such 
words as these: — ' This so persuasive art is the only one that has 
no didactic efficacy, that engenders no emotions save such as are 
without issue on the side of moral truth, that expresses nothing of 
God, nothing of reason, nothing of human liberty. ' 

I must also anticipate something of what I have to say re- 
specting the relation of the power of Athena to organic life, so 
far as to note that her name, Pallas, probably refers to the quiver- 
ing or vibration of the air; and to its power, whether as vital 
force, or communicated wave, over every kind of matter, in giv- 
ing it vibratory movement; first, and most intense, in the voice 
and throat of the bird; which is the air incarnate; and so de- 
scending through the various orders of animal life to the vibrating 
and semi-voluntary murmur of the insect; and, lower still, to the 
hiss, or quiver of the tail, of the half-lunged snake and deaf 
adder; all these, nevertheless, being wholly under the rule of 
Athena as representing either breath, or vital nervous power; 
and, therefore, also, in their simplicity, the ' oaten pipe and pas- 
toral song,' which belong to her dominion over the asphodel 
meadows, and breathe on their banks of violets. 

Finally, is it not strange to think of the influence of this one 
power of Pallas in vibration; (we shall see a singular mechanical 
energy of it presently in the serpent's motion;) in the voices of 
war and peace? How much of the repose — how much of the 
wrath, folly, and misery of men, has literally depended on this 
one power of the air; — on the sound of the trumpet and of the 
bell — on the lark's song, and the bee's murmur. 

*Aerlaiau the wife of Vulcan. 



ORIGIN' OF THE MYTH 43 

Such is the general conception in the Greek mind of the phys- 
ical power of Athena. The spiritual power associated with it is 

of two kinds:— first, she is the Spirit of Life in ma- 
Athena, the .-.I i t i 
goddess of wis- terial organism: not strength in the blood only, but 

formative energy in the clay: and. secondly, she is 
inspired and impulsive wisdom in human conduct and human 
art. giving the instinct of infallible decision, and of faultless in- 
vention. 

You would, perhaps, hardly bear with me if I endeavored 
farther to show you— what is nevertheless perfectly true— the 
analogy between the spiritual power of Athena in her gentle min- 
istry, yet irresistible anger, with the ministry of another Spirit 
whom we also, holding for the universal power of life, are for- 
bidden at our worst peril, to quench or to grieve. 

But. I think, to-night, you should not let me close without 
requiring of me an answer on one vital point, namely, how far 
these imaginations of gods — which are vain to us — were vain to 
Athena a reiig- those who had no better trust? and what real belief 

ious reality to 

the Greeks The the Greek had in these creations of his own spirit. 

influence of this 

myth both pow- practical and helpful to him in the sorrow of earth? 

erlul and bene- L x 

eciaJ to them, j am a j)} e to answer you explicitly in this. The 
origin of his thoughts is often obscure, and we may err in en- 
deavoring to account for their form of realization; but the effect 
of that realization on his life is not obscure at all. The Greek 
creed was, of course, different in its character, as our own creed 
is, according to the class of persons who held it. The common 
people's was quite literal, simple and happy; their idea of Athena 
was as clear as 'a good Roman Catholic peasant's idea of the Ma- 
donna. In Athens itself, the center of thought and refinement. 
Pisistratus obtained the reins of government through the ready 
belief of the populace that a beautiful woman, armed like 
Athena, was the goddess herself. Even at the close of the last 
century some of this simplicity remained among the inhabitants 
of the Greek islands; and when a pretty English lady first made 
her way into the grotto of Antiparos, she was surrounded, on 
her return, by all the women of the neighboring village, believ- 
ing her to be divine, and praying her to heal them of their sick- 
nesses. 



44 the world's literature 

Then, secondly, the creed of the upper classes was more re- 
fined and spiritual, but quite as honest, and even more forcible 
in its effect on the life. You might imagine that the employment 
of the artifice just referred to implied utter unbelief in the per- 
sons contriving it; but it really meant only that the more worldly 
of them would play with a popular faith for their own purposes, 
as doubly-minded persons have often done since, all the while 
sincerely holding the same ideas themselves in a more abstract 
form; while the good and unworldly men, the true Greek heroes, 
lived by their faith as firmly as St. Louis, or the Cicl, or the 
Chevalier Bayard. 

Then, thirdly, the faith of the poets and artists was, neces- 
sarily, less definite, being continually modified by the involun- 
tary action of their own fancies, and by the necessity of present- 
ing, in clear verbal or material form, things of which they had 
The myth of D0 authoritative knowledge. Their faith was, in 
eentl^tto'the some respects, like Dante's or Milton's; firm in gen- 
searcifalt^r to era l conception, but not able to vouch for every de- 
tail in the forms they gave it; but they went con- 
siderably farther, even in that minor sincerity, than subsequent 
poets, and strove with all their might to be as near the truth as 
they could. Pindar says, quite simply, ' I cannot think so-and- 
so of the Gods. It must have been this way — it cannot have 
been that way — that the thing was done.' And so late among 
the Latins as the days of Horace this sincerity remains. Horace 
is just as true and simple in his religion as Wordsworth; but all 
power of understanding any of the honest classic poets has been 
taken away from most English gentlemen by the mechanical 
drill in verse writing at school. Throughout the whole of their 
lives afterwards they never can get themselves quit of the notion 
that all verses were written as an exercise, and that Minerva was 
only a convenient word for the last of an hexameter, and Jupiter 
for the last but one. 

It is impossible that any notion can be more fallacious or 
more misleading in its consequences. All great song, from the 
The wrong use first clay when human lips contrived syllables, has 
oiirmodern e in keen sincere song. With deliberate didactic pur- 
schoois. p 0Se ftie tragedians — with pure and native pas- 



ORIGIN OF THE MYTH 45 

sion the lyrists — fitted their perfect words to their dearest faiths. 
' 1, little thing that I am, weave my laborious songs ' as earn- 
estly as the bee among the bells of thyme on the Matin moun- 
tains. Yes, and he dedicates his favorite pine to Diana, and he 
chants his autumnal hymn to the Faun that guards his fields, 
and he guides the noble youths and maids of Rome in their choir 
to Apollo, and he tells the farmer's little girl that the Gods will 
love her, though she has only a handful of salt and meal to give 
them — just as earnestly as ev-er English gentlemen taught Chris- 
tain faith to English youth in England's truest days. 

Then, lastly, the creed of the philosophers. or sages varied 
according to the character and knowledge of each. They ended 
in losing the life of Greece in play upon words; but we owe to 
their early thought some of the soundest ethics and the founda- 
tion of the best practical laws yet known to mankind. 

Such was the general vitality of the heathen creed in its 
strength. Of its direct influence on conduct, it is. as I said, im- 
The vitality possible for me to speak now: onlv, remember al- 

of theinflu- . . „ . " ,. . , 

enceofthe wavs. in endeavoring to forma "judgment of it. that 

mvth not yet J c .10 

lost. what of good or right the heathens did, they did 

looking for no reward. The purest forms of our own religion 
have always consisted in sacrificing less things to win greater: — 
time, to win eternity, — the world, to win the skies. The order, 
'sell that thou hast.' is not given without the promise, — 'thou 
shalt have treasure in heaven;' and well for the modern Chris- 
tian if he accepts the alternative as his Master left it — and does 
not practically read the command and promise thus: "Sell that 
thou hast in the best market, and thou shalt have treasure in 
eternity also.' But the poor Greeks of the great ages expected 
no reward from heaven but honor, and no reward from earth but 
rest; — though, when, on those conditions, they patiently and 
proudly fulfilled their task of the granted day. an unreasoning 
instinct of an immortal benediction broke from their lips in song: 
and they, even they, had sometimes a prophet to tell them of a land 
" where there is sun alike by day. and alike by night — where they 
shall need no more to trouble the earth by strength of hands for 
daily bread— but the ocean breozes blow around the blessed islands, 
and golden flowers burn on their bright trees for evermore. '" 



46 the world's literature 



CHAPTER II. 
Muskirfs Theory Continued. 
In reviewing the preceding chapter we find that Ave 
have not only been making a study of one of the greatest 
of the myths, but also that we have studied a great 
piece of English prose, and the character of one of the 
noblest men of the present day, for nowhere do we find 
the essential greatness of a man as we find it in his 
The study of writings. Reverence is the supreme quality 

Athena a study - „, 

ofRuskin. f the human mind, " ine master-key of 
knowledge " Lowell c^lls it, and reverence for human 
feelings even in their earliest stages, is conspicuously 
inherent in Ruskin, if we may judge him through his 
words. We see in this essay how reverence has led him 
on to deeper insight into his subject, and a broader 
grasp of it. He has taken us into the heart-life of the 
Greeks, and given us a large look at the myth-making 
age; he has, I hope, aroused our curiosity to investigate 
other myths that we may discover their deeper mean- 
ings, at the same time that he has elevated our respect 
for the human race in all of its aspirations from the 
humblest to the highest, and has made us feel the heart- 
beat of our own century. 

In the next essays of the same work he proceeds to 
outline the power of Athena in the earth, and in the 
heart, as he has already traced their thought of her in 
the air and water and heavens. He says: 



buskin's theory continued 47 

kt It is not at all easy to trace the Greek thoughts about the 
power of Athena in giving life, because we do not ourselves know 
clearly what life is, or in what way the air is necessary to it, or 
what there is, besides the air, shaping the forms that it is put into- 
And it is comparatively of small consequence to find out what the 
Greeks thought or meant, until we have determined what we our- 
selves think, or mean, when we translate the Greek word for 
1 breathing ' into the Latin-English word ' spirit. ' 

But it is of great consequence that you should fix in your minds 
— and hold, against the baseness of mere materialism on the one 
hand, and against the fallacies of controversial speculation on the 
other — the certain and practical sense of this word 'spirit;' — the 
sense in which you all know that its reality exists, as the power 
which shaped you into your shape, and by which you love and 
hate, when you have received that shape. You need not fear, on 
the one hand, that either the sculpturing or the loving power can 
ever be beaten down by the philosophers into a metal, or evolved 
by them into a gas; but on the other hand, take care that you 
yourselves, in trying to elevate your conception of it, do not lose 
its truth in a dream, or even in a word. Beware always of con- 
tending for words: you will find them not easy to grasp, if you 
know them in several languages. 

The deep of air that surrounds the earth enters into union 
with the earth at its surface, and with its waters; so as to be the 
apparent cause of their ascending into life. First, it warms 
them, and shades, at once, staying the heat of the sun's rays in its 
own body, but warding their force with its clouds. It warms and 
cools at once, with traffic of balm and frost; so that the white 
wreaths are withdrawn from the field of the Swiss peasant by the 
glow of Libyan rock. It gives its own strength to the sea; forms 
and fills every cell of its foam; sustains the precipices, and designs 
the valleys of its waves; gives the gleam to their moving under 
Athena's power tne ni S^ ana * the white fire to their plains under 
in the earth. sunrise; lifts their voices along the rocks, bears 
above them the spray of birds, pencils through them the dimpling 
of unfooted sands. It gathers out of them a portion in the hol- 
low of its hand; dyes with that, the hills into dark blue, and 
their glaciers with dying rose; inlays with that, for sapphire, the 



48 the world's literature 

dome in which it has to set the cloud; shapes out of that the 
heavenly flocks; divides them, numbers, cherishes, bears them on 
its bosom, calls them to their journeys, waits by their rest; feeds 
from them the brooks that cease not, and strews with them the 
dews that cease. It spins and weaves their fleece into wild tapes- 
try, rends it, and renews; and flits and flames, and whispers, 
among the golden threads, thrilling them with a plectrum of 
strange fire that traverses them to and fro, and is enclosed in them 
like life. 

Tt enters into the surface of the earth, subdues it, and falls 
together with it into fruitful dust, from which can be moulded 
flesh; it joins itself, in dew, to the substance of adamant; and 
becomes the green leaf out of the dry ground; it enters into the 
separated shapes of the earth it has tempered, commands the ebb 
and flow of the current of their life, fills their limbs with its own 
lightness, measures their existence by its indwelling pulse, moulds 
upon their lips the words by which one soul can be known to an- 
other; is to them the hearing of the ear, and the beating of the 
heart; and, passing away, leaves them to the peace that hears 
and moves no more. 

This was the Athena of the greatest people of the days of old." 

Of Athena "in the heart " he says: 

' 'Athena rules over moral passion, and practically useful art. 
She does not make men learned, but prudent and subtle; she does 
not teach them to make their work beautiful, but to make it 
right. 

******* 

We continually speak thus of works of art. We talk of their 
faults and merits, as of virtues and vices. What do we mean by 
talking of the faults of a picture, or the merits of a piece of stone? 

The faults of a work of art are the faults of its workman, and 
its virtues his virtues. 

Great art is the expression of the mind of a great man, and 
mean art, that of the want of mind of a weak man. A- foolish 
person builds foolishly, and a wise one sensibly; a virtuous one, 

Ruskin refers to the expression "Athena Keramistis," and puts 
upon it the meaning " Athena, fit for being made into pottery." 



buskin's theory continued 49 

Atntiia. the beautifully: and a vicious one, basely. If stone 
§Sm asVi f W1S " work is well put together, it means that a thought- 
pressed in art. f u j man pi arm ed [^ an d a careful man cut it, and an 
honest man cemented it. If it has too much ornament, it means 
thai its carver was too greedy of pleasure; if too little-, that he 
was rude, or insensitive, or stupid, and the like. So that when 
once you have learned how to spell these most precious of all 
legends, — pictures and buildings, — you may read the characters 
of men, and of nations, in their art, as in a mirror; — nay, as in a 
microscope, and magnified a hundredfold; for the character be- 
comes passionate in the art, and intensifies itself in all its noblest 
or meanest delights. Nay, not only as in a miscroscope. but as 
under a scalpel, and in dissection; for a man may hide himself 
from you, or misrepresent himself to you, every other way; but 
he cannot in his work: there, be sure, you have him to the inmost. 
All that he likes, all that he sees, — all that he can do, — his im- 
agination, his affections, his perseverance, his impatience, his 
clumsiness, cleverness, everything is there. If the work is a cob- 
web, you know it was made by a spider; if a honeycomb, by a 
bee; a worm-cast is thrown up by a worm, and a nest wreathed 
by a bird; and a house built by a man, worthily, if he is worthy, 
and ignobly, if he is ignoble. 

And always, from the least to the greatest, as the made thing 
is good or bad, so is the maker of it. 

You all use this faculty of judgment more or less, whether 
you theoretically admit the principle or not. Take that floral 
gable; you don't suppose the man who built Stonehenge could 
have built that, or that the man who built that, would have built 
Stonehenge? Do you think an old Roman would have liked such 
a piece of filigree work ? or that Michael Angelo would have spent 
his time in twisting these stems of roses in and out? Or, of 
modern handicraftsmen, do you think a burglar, or a brute, or a 
pickpocket could have carved it? Could Bill Sykes have done it? 
or the Dodger, dexterous with finger and tool ? You will find in 
the end, that no man could have done it but exactly the man who 
did it; and by looking close at it. you may, if you know your let- 
ters, read precisely the manner of man he was. 



50 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

Now I must insist on this matter, for a grave reason. Of all 
facts concerning art, this is the one most necessary to be known, 
Great art the that, while manufacture is the work of hands only, 
Srea?man. a art is tne work of the whole spirit of man; and as 
can^tiuf* 18 * that spirit is, so is the deed of it: and by whatever 
Athena f in his power of vice or virtue any art is produced, the same 
vice or virtue it reproduces and teaches. That which 
is born of evil begets evil; and that which is born of valor and 
honor, teaches valor and honor. All art is either infection or 
education. It must be one or other of these. 

This, I repeat, of all truths respecting art, is the one of which 
understanding is the most precious, and denial the most deadly. 
And I assert it the more, because it has of late been repeatedly, 
expressly, and with contumely, denied; and that by high author- 
ity; and I hold it one of the most sorrowful facts connected with 
the decline of the arts among us, that English gentlemen, of high 
standing as scholars and artists, should have been blinded into 
the acceptance, and betrayed into the assertion of a fallacy which 
only authority such as theirs could have rendered for an instant 
credible. For the contrary of it fs written in the history of all 
great nations; it is the one sentence always inscribed on the steps 
of their thrones; the one concordant voice in which they speak to 
us out of their dust. 

All such nations first manifest themselves as a pure and beau- 
tiful animal race, with intense energy and imagination. They 
The military ^ ve ^ ves °^ hardship by choice, and by grand in- 
the art iffeof a stinct of manly discipline they become fierce and 
l^flrst goddess 8, irresistible soldiers. The nation is always its own 
godd^ss^the army, and their king or chief head of government is 
SlSSSctS?* always their first soldier. Pharaoh, or David, or 
Leonidas, or Barbarossa, or Oceur de Lion, or St. 
Louis, or Frederick the Great — Egyptian, Jew, Greek, Roman, 
German, English, French, Venetian — that is inviolable law for 
them all; their king must be their first soldier, or they cannot be 
in progressive power. Then, after their great military period," 
comes the domestic period; in which, without betraying the dis- 
cipline of war, they add to their great soldiership the delights* 
and possessions of a delicate and tender home-life; and then, for 



buskin's theory continued 51 

all nations, is the time of their perfect art, which is the fruit, the 
evidence, the reward of their national idea of character, devel- 
oped by the finished care of the occupations of peace. That is 
the history of all true art that ever was, or can be; palpably the 
history of it. unmistakably, written on the forehead of it in let- 
ters of light, in tongues of fire, by which the seal of virtue is 
branded as deep as ever iron burnt into a convict's flesh the seal 
of crime. But always, hitherto, after the great period, has fol- 
lowed the day of luxury, and pursuit of the arts for pleasure 
only. And all has so ended. 

Thus far of Abbeville building. Xow I have here asserted 
two things. First, the foundation of art in moral character; 
next, the foundation of moral character in war. I must make 
both these assertions clearer, and prove them. 

First, of the foundation of art in moral character. Of course, 
art-gift and amiability of disposition are two different things: a 
good man is not necessarily a painter, nor does an eye for color 
necessarily imply an honest mind. But great art implies the 
union of both powers; it is the expression, by an art-gift, of a 
pure soul. If the gift is not there, we can have no art at all; 
and if the soul — and a right soul, too — is not there, the art is 
bad. however dexterous. 

As all lovely art is rooted in virtue, so it bears fruit of virtue, 
and is didactic in its own nature. It is often didactic also in 
actually expressed thought, as Giotto's, Michael Angelo's, Durer's, 
and hundreds more: but that is not its special function; — it 
is didactic chiefly by being beautiful; but beautiful with haunt- 
ing thought, no less than with form, and full of myths that can 
be read only with the heart 

For instance, at this moment there is open beside me, as I 
write, a page of Persian manuscript, wrought with wreathed 
azure and gold, and soft green, and violet, and ruby and scarlet, 
into one field of pure resplendence. It is wrought to delight the 
eyes only, and does delight them: and the man who did it assur- 
edly had eyes in his head, but not much more. It is not didac- 
tic art, but its author was happy; and it will do the good and the 
harm that mere pleasure can do. But opposite me is an early 



52 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

Athena the Turner drawing of the lake of Geneva, taken about 
Suwlnglhe tw0 miles from Geneva, on the Lausanne road, with 

true artist. Mont B]anc j n the distance# T he Q j d dty | g g^ 

lying beyond the waveless waters, veiled with a sweet misty veil 
of Athena's weaving; a faint light of morning, peaceful exceed- 
ingly, and almost colorless, shed from behind the Voirons, in- 
creases into soft amber along the slope of the Saleve, and is just 
seen, and no more, on the fair warm fields of its summit, be- 
tween the folds of a white cloud that rests upon the grass, but 
rises, high and tower-like, into the zenith of dawn above. 

There is not as much color in that low amber light upon the 
hill-side as there is in the palest dead leaf. The lake is not blue, 
but gray in mist, passing into deep shadow beneath the Voirons' 
pines; a few dark clusters of leaves, a single white flower — 
scarcely seen — are all the gladness given to the rocks of the 
shore. One of the ruby spots of the eastern manuscript would 
give color enough for all the red that is in Turner's entire draw- 
ing. For the mere pleasure of the eye, there is not so much in 
all those lines of his, throughout the entire landscape, as in half 
an inch square of the Persian's page. What made him take 
pleasure in the low color that is only like the brown of a dead 
leaf? in the cold gray of dawn — in the one white flower among 
the rocks — in these — and no more than these? 

He took pleasure in them because he had been bred among Eng- 
lish fields and hills; because the gentleness of a great race was in 
his heart, and its powers of thought in his brain; because he knew 
the stories of the Alps, and of the cities at their feet; because 
he had read the Homeric legends of the clouds, and beheld the 
gods of dawn and the givers of dew to the fields; because he knew 
the faces of the crags, and the imagery of the passionate moun- 
tains, as a man knows the face of his friend; because he had in 
him the wonder and sorrow concerning life and death, which are 
the inheritance of the Gothic soul from the days of its first sea 
kings; and also the compassion and the joy that are woven into 
the innermost fabric of every great imaginative spirit, born now 
in countries that have lived by the Christian faith with any 
courage or truth. And the picture contains also, for us, just 
this which its maker had in him to give and can convey it to us, 



buskin's theory continued 53 

just so far as we are of the temper in which it must be received. 
It is didactic if we are worthy to be taught, not otherwise. The 
pure heart it will make more pure; the thoughtful more thought- 
ful. It has in it no words for the reckless or the base. 

As I myself look at it, there is no fault nor folly of my life — 
and both have been many and great — that does not rise up 
against me, and take away my joy, and shorten my power of 
possession, of sight, of understanding. And every past effort of 
The force my life, every gleam of tightness or good in it. is 

^ve^insight witn me nOW > t0 ne *P me m m y g ras P °f tnis ai 't 

arVthT'ame ancl its vision. So far as I can rejoice in, or inter- 
'he c Greek? pret either, my power is owing to what of right 

named Athena. there igj m me j ^^ tQ gay .^ ^^ because 

through all my life I have desired good, and not evil; because I 
have been kind to many; have wished to be kind to all; have wil- 
fully injured none; and because I have loved much, and not self- 
ishly; — therefore the morning light is yet visible to me on those 
hills, and you, who read, may trust my thought and word in 
such work as I have to do for you; and you will be glad after- 
wards that you have trusted them. 

Yet remember — I repeat it again and yet again — that I may for 
once, if possible, make this thing assuredly clear: — the inherited 
art-gift must be there, as well as the life in some poor measure, 
or rescued fragment, right. 

This, then, is the nature of the connection of morals with 
art. Now, secondly, I have asserted the foundation of both 
these, at least, hitherto, in war. The reason of this too manifest 
fact is. that, until now, it has been impossible for any nation, 
except a warrior one, to fix its mind wholly on its men, instead 
of on their possessions. Every great soldier nation thinks neces- 
sarily, first of multiplying its bodies and souls of men, in good 
temper and strict discipline. As long as this is its political aim, 
it does not matter what it temporarily suffers or loses, either in 
numbers or in wealth; its morality and its arts (if it have na- 
tional art-gift), advance together; but so soon as it ceases to be a 
warrior nation it thinks of its possessions instead of its men; and 
then the moral and poetic powers vanish together. 



54 the avorld's literature 

It is thus, however, absolutely necessary to the virtue of war 
that it should be waged by personal strength, not by money or 
machinery. A nation that fights with a mercenary force, or 
with torpedoes instead of its own arms, is dying. Not but that 
there is more true courage in modern than even in ancient war, but 
this is, first, because all the remaining life of European nations 
is with a morbid intensity thrown into their soldiers; and, sec- 
ondly, because their present heroism is the culmination of centu- 
ries of inbred and traditional valor, which Athena taught them 
by forcing them to govern the foam of the sea-wave and of the 
horse, — not the steam of kettles. 

And farther, note this, which is vital to us in the present 
crisis: If war is to be made by money and machinery, the na- 
tion which is the largest and most covetous multitude will win. 
Athena not the Y° u ma 3 r be as scientific as you choose; the mob 
molfernwar- that can pay more for sulphuric acid and gunpow- 
der will at last poison its bullets, throw acid in your 
faces, and make an end of you; — of itself also, in good time, but 
of you first. And to the English people the choice of its fate is 
very near now. It may spasmodically defend its property with 
iron walls a fathom thick, a few years longer — a very few. No 
walls will defend either it or its havings against the multitude 
that is breeding and spreading faster than the clouds over the 
habitable earth. We shall be allowed to live by small pedlar's 
business and ironmongery — since we have chosen those for our 
line of life — as long as we are found useful black servants to the 
Americans, and are content to dig coals and sit in the cinders; and 
and have still coals to dig, — they once exhausted or got cheaper 
elsewhere, we shall be abolished. But if we think more wisely, 
while there is yet time, and set our minds again on multiplying 
Englishmen, and not on cheapening English wares; if we resolve 
to submit to wholesome laws of labor and economy, and, setting 
our political squabbles aside, try how many strong creatures, 
friendly and faithful to each other, we can crowd into every spot 
of English dominion, neither poison nor iron will prevail against 
us; nor traffic, nor hatred. The noble nation will yet, by the 
grace of Heaven, rule over the ignoble, and force of heart hold 
its own against fire-balls. 



buskin's theory continued 55 

But there is yet a farther reason for the dependence of the 
arts on war. The vice and injustice of the world are constantly 
springing anew, and are only to be subdued by battle. The 
Athena merci- keepers of order and law must always be soldiers. 
JS^donot 6 And now > §* om g back to the myth of Athena, we 
know her. §ee ^^ though she is first a warrior maid, she de- 

tests war for its own sake; she arms Achilles and Ulysses in just 
quarrels, but she disarms Ares. She contends, herself, continu- 
ally, against disorder and convulsion, in the Earth giants; she 
stands by Hercules' side in victory over all monstrous evil: in 
justice only she judges and makes war. But in this war of hers 
she is wholly implacable. She has little notion of converting 
criminals. There is no faculty of mercy in her when she has 
been resisted. Her word is only, • I will mock 3 T ou when your 
fear cometh.' Note the words that follow, 'when your fear 
cometh as desolation, and your destruction as a whirlwind;' for 
her wrath is of irresistible tempest; once roused, it is blind and 
deaf — rabies, madness of anger, darkness of the Dies Irae. 

And that is, indeed, the sorrowfulest fact we have to know 
about our own several lives. Wisdom never forgives. Whatever 
resistance we have offered to her law she avenges forever; the 
lost hour can never be redeemed, and the accomplished wrong 
never atoned for. The best that can be done afterwards, but for 
that, had been better; — the falsest of all the cries of peace where 
there is no peace is that of the pardon of sin. as the mob expect 
it. Wisdom can 'put away' sin, but she cannot pardon it; and 
she is apt, in her haste, to put away the sinner as well, when the 
black aegis is on her breast. 

And this is also a fact we have to know about our national 
life, that it is ended as soon as it has lost the power of noble an- 
ger. When it paints over and apologizes for its 

Athena denied ° ..„,..,. . , , . „ , 

by those who pitiful criminalities, and endures its false weights 

palliate wrong. 

and its adulterated food, dares not to decide practi- 
cally between good and evil, and can neither honor the one, nor 
smite the other, but sneers at the good, as if it were hidden evil, 
and consoles the evil with pious sympathy, and conserves it in 
the sugar of its leaden heart — the end is come. 

The first sign, then, of Athena's presence with any people is 



56 the world's literature 

that they become warriors, and that the chief thought of every 
man of them is to stand rightly in his rank, and not fail from 
his brother's side in battle. Wealth and pleasure, and even love 
are all, under Athena's orders, sacrificed to this duty of standing 
fast in the rank of war. 

But farther: Athena presides over industry, as well as bat- 
tle; typically, over women's industry; that brings comfort with 
pleasantness. Her word to us all is — 'Be well exercised and 
rightly clothed. Clothed, and in your right minds; not insane 
and in rags, nor in soiled fine clothes clutched from each other's 
shoulders. Fight and weave. Then I myself will answer for 
the course of the lance and the colors of the loom.' 
************ 

Among the photographs of Greek coins which present so many 
admirable subjects for your study, I must speak for the present 
of one only: the Hercules of Camarina. You have, represented 
by a Greek workman, in that coin, the face of a man, and the 
skin of a lion's head. And the man's face is like a man's face, 
but the lion's skin is not like a lion's skin. 

Now there are some people who will tell you that Greek art is 
fine, because it is true; and because it carves men's faces as like 
men's faces as it can. 

And there are other people who will tell you that Greek art is 
fine because it is not true; and carves a lion's skin so as to look 
not at all like a lion's skin. 

And you fancy that one or other of these sets of people must 
be wrong, and are perhaps much puzzled to find out which you 
should believe. 

But neither of them are wrong, and you will have eventually 
to believe, or rather to understand and know, in reconciliation, 
the truths taught by each; — but for the present, the teachers of 
the first group are those you must follow. 

It is they who tell you the deepest and usefullest truth, which 
involves all others in time. Greek art, and all other art, is fine 
when it makes a man's face as like a man's face as it can. Hold 
The difference to that. All kinds of nonsense are talked to you, 
a?tlnd n reaus- now-a-days, ingeniously and irrelevantly about art. 
tic art, Therefore, for the most part of the day, shut your 



•buskin's theory continued 



ears, and keep your e} T es open; and understand primarily, what 
you may, I fancy, understand easily, that the greatest masters of 
all greatest schools — Phidias, Donatello, Titian, Velasquez, or 
Sir Joshua Reynolds — all tried to make human creatures as like 
human creatures as they could; and that anything less like 
humanity than their work, is not so good as theirs. Get that well 
driven into your heads; and don't let it out again, at your peril. 

Having got it well in, you may then farther understand, 
safely, that there is a great deal of secondary work in pots, 
and pans, and floors, and carpets, and shawls, and architectural 
ornament, which ought, essentially, to be unlike reality, and to 
depend for its charm on quite other qualities than imitative ones. 

But all such art is inferior and secondary — much of it more or 
less instinctive and animal, and a civilized human creature can 
only learn its principles rightly, by knowing those of great civil- 
ized art first — which is always the representation, to the utmost 
of its power, of whatever it has got to show — made to look as like 
the thing as possible. Go into the National Gallery, and look at 
the foot of Correggio's Venus there. Correggio made it as like a 
foot as he could, and you won't easily find anything liker. Xow, 
you will find on any Greek vase something meant for a foot, or a 
hand, which is not at all like one. The Greek vase is a good 
thing in its way, but Correggio's picture is the best work. 

So, again, go into the Turner room of the National Gallery, 
and look at Turner's drawing of 'Ivy Bridge.' You will find 
the water in it is like real water, and the ducks in it are like real 
ducks. Then go into the British Museum, and look for an 
Egyptian landscape, and you will find the water in that consti- 
tuted of blue zigzags, not at all like water; and ducks in the 
middle of it made of red lines, looking not in the least as if they 
could stand stuffing with sage and onions. They are very good 
in their way, but Turner's are better. 

I will not pause to fence my general principle against what 
you perfectly well know of the due contradiction, — that a thing 
ma} r be painted very like, yet painted ill. Rest content with 
knowing that it must be like, if it is painted well; and take this 
farther general law: — Imitation is like charity. When it is done 
for love it is lovelv; when it is done for show, hateful. 



58 the world's literature 

Well, then, this Greek coin is fine, first, because the face is 
like a face: Perhaps you think there is something particularly 
handsome in the face, which you can't see in the photograph, or 
can't at present appreciate. But there is nothing of the kind. 
It is a very regular, quiet, commonplace sort of face; and any 
average English gentleman's, of good descent, would be far hand- 
somer. 

Fix that in your heads also, therefore, that Greek faces are not 
particularly beautiful. Of the much nonsense against which you 
are to keep your ears shut, that which is talked to you of the 
Greek ideal of beauty, is among the absolutest. There is not a 
single instance of a very beautiful head left by the highest school 
of Greek art. On coins, there is even no approximately beautiful 
one. The Juno of Argos is a virago; the Athena of Athens, gro- 
tesque; the Athena of Corinth is insipid. 

You might have expected something subtle in Mercuries; but 
the Mercury of iEnus is a very stupid-looking fellow, in a cap 
like a bowl, with a knob on the top of it. The Bacchus of Thasos 
is a drayman with his hair pomatum'd. The Jupiter of Syracuse 
is, however, calm and refined; and the Apollo of Clazomense 
would have been impressive, if he had not come down to us much 
flattened by friction. But on the whole, the merit of Greek coins 
does not primarily depend on beauty of features, nor even, in the 
period of highest art, that of the statues. You may take the 
Venus of Melos as a standard of beauty of the central Greek type. 
She has tranquil, regular, and lofty features; but could not hold 
her own for a moment against the beauty of a simple English girl 
of pure race and kind heart. 

And the reason that Greek art, on the whole, bores you, (and 
you know it does,) is that you are always forced to look in it for 
something that is not there; but which may be seen every day, 
in real life, all around you; and which you are naturally disposed 
to delight in, and ought to delight in. For the Greek race was 
not at all one of exalted beauty, but only of general and healthy 
completeness of form. They were only, and could be only, 
beautiful in body to the degree that they were beautiful in soul 
(for you will find, when you read deeply into the matter, that the 
body is only the soul made visible). And the Greeks were indeed 



THEORY CONTINUED 59 



very good people, much better people than most of us think, or 
than many of us are; but there are better people alive now than 
the best of them, and lovelier people to be seen now than the 
loveliest of them. 

Then, what are the merits of this Greek art, which make it so 

exemplary for you? Well, not that it is beautiful, but that it is 

Right. All that it desires to do, it does, and all that it does, does 

well. You will find, as you advance in the knowl- 

be right than edge of art. that its laws of self-restraint are very 

to be beautiful. . _ _ _ _ 

marvelous; that its peace of heart, and contentment 
in doing a simple thing, with only one or two qualities, restrictedly 
desired, and sufficiently attained, are a most wholesome element 
of education for you, as opposed to the wild writhing, and wrest- 
ling, and longing for the moon, and tilting at windmills, and 
agony of eyes, and torturing of fingers, and general spinning out 
of one's soul into fiddlestrings. which constitute the ideal life of 
a modern artist. 

Also ohserve, there is entire masterhood of its business up to 
the required point. A Greek does not reach after other people's 
strength, nor out-reach his own. He never tries to paint before 
he can draw; he never tries to lay on flesh where there are no 
bones; and he never expects to find the bones of anything in his 
inner consciousness. Those are his first merits — sincere and in- 
nocent purpose, strong common sense and principle, and all the 
strength that comes of these, and all the grace that follows on 
that strength. 

But, secondly, Greek art is always exemplary in disposition of 
masses, which is a thing that in modern days students rarely look 
for, artists not enough, and the public never. But. whatever else 
Greek work may fail of, you may be always sure its masses are 
well placed, and their placing has been the object of the most 
subtle care. Look, for instance, at the inscription in front of this 
Hercules of the name of the town — Camarina, You can't read it. 
even though you may know Greek, without some pains; for the 
sculptor knew well enough that it mattered very little whether 
you read it or not. for the Camarina Hercules could tell his own 
story; but what did above all things matter was, that no K or A 
or M should come in a wrong place with respect to the outline of 



()0 THE W0RLD*8 LITERATURE 

the head, and divert the eye from it, or spoil any of its lines. So 
the whole inscription is thrown into a sweeping curve of gradu- 
ally diminishing size, continuing from the lion's paws, round the 
neck, up to the forehead, and answering a decorative purpose as 
completely as the curls of the mane opposite. Of these, again, 
you cannot change or displace one without mischief; they are al- 
most as even in reticulation as a piece of basket-work; but each 
has a different form and a due relation to the rest, and if }*ou set 
to work to draw that mane rightly, you will find that, whatever 
time you give to it, you can't get the tresses quite into their places, 
and that every tress out of its place does an injury. If you want 
to test your powers of accurate drawing, you ma} 7 make that 
lion's mane your pons asinorum. I have never yet met with a 
student who didn't make an ass in a lion's skin of himself, when 
he tried it. 

Granted, however, that these tresses may be finely placed, still 
they are not like a lion's mane. So we come back to the ques- 
tion, — if the face is to be a man's face, why is not the lion's mane 
to be like a lion's mane? Well, because it can't be like a lion's 
mane without too much trouble; — and inconvenience after that, 
and poor success after all. Too much trouble in cutting the die 
into fine fringes and jags; inconvenience after that, — because 
Great art often fringes and jags would spoil the surface of a coin; 
taiitS c iarge e * P°° r success after all, — because, though you can 
ness> easily stamp cheeks and foreheads smooth at a blow 

you can't stamp projecting tresses fine at a blow, whatever pains 
you take with your die. 

So your Greek uses his common sense, wastes no time, loses no 
skill, and says to you: ' Here are beautifully set tresses, which I 
have carefully designed and easily stamped. Enjoy them; and 
if you cannot understand that fhey mean lion's mane, heaven 
mend your wits.' 

See then, you have in this work, well-founded knowledge, 
simple and right aims, thorough mastery of handicraft, splendid 
invention in arrangement, unerring common sense in treatment, 
— merits, these, I think, exemplary enough to justify our tor- 
menting you a little with Greek Art. But it has one merit more 
than these, the greatest of all. It always means something worth 



buskin's theory continued 61 

saying. Not merely worth saying for that time only, but for all 
time. What do you think this helmet of lion's hide is always 
given to Hercules for? You can't suppose it means only that he 
once killed a lion, and always carried the skin afterwards to show 
that he had, as Indian sportsmen send home stuffed rugs, with 
claws at the corners, and a lump in the middle which one tumbles 
over every time one stirs the fire. What teas this Nemean Lion, 
whose spoils were evermore to cover Hercules from the cold? 
Not merely a large specimen of Felis Leo, ranging the fields of 
Nemea, be sure of that. This Nemean cub was one of a bad lit- 
ter. Born of Typhon and Echidna, — of the whirlwind and 
the snake, — Cerberus his brother, the Hydra of Lerna his sister, 
— it must have been difficult to get his hide off him. He had to 
be found in darkness too, and dealt upon without weapons, by 
grip at the throat — arrows and club of no avail against him. 
What does all that mean ? 

It means that the Nemean Lion is the first great adversary of 
life, whatever that may be — to Hercules, or to any of us, then or 
now. The first monster we have to strangle, or be destroyed by, 
fighting in the dark, and with none to help us, only Athena 
standing by to encourage with her smile. Every man's Nemean 
Lion lies in wait for him somewhere. The slothful 

The ethical .,.'., , XT 

lesson in the man says, there is a lion m the path. He says well. 

Xemean myth. . 

The quiet wslothful man says the same, and knows 
it too. But they differ in their farther reading of the text. The 
slothful man says I shall be slain, and the unslothful, it shall be. 
It is the first ugly and strong enemy that rises against us, all 
future victory depending on victory over that. Kill it; and 
through all the rest of life, what was once dreadful is your armour 
and you are clothed with that conquest for every other, and 
helmed with its crest of fortitude for evermore." 



62 the world's literature 



CHAPTER III. 

Different Theories of the Myth. 
There are many theories concerning the origin and 
meaning of the myths. Taking the preceding chapters 
Ruskins the- as data from which to reason, we find that 

ory, the Nature t-> i • i 

A^fe°gorfcaithe e - - Kuskm ^ as accounted for them on the sup- 
or y combined, position that they have a physical basis, or 
that they are nature stories; that the operations of 
nature were explained by comparing them with the ac- 
tions of men, and so were personified; and so were 
realized through the imagination, and finally took on 
moral significance. If this is the allegorical theory, it 
must be remembered that the myth, at its beginning, 
was not an allegory, for the allegory comes only with 
developed intelligence. 

"In order to comprehend a problem so complex as that 
which is offered by mythology," says J. Addington Symonds, 
1 ' we must not be satisfied to approach it from one point of view, 
but must sift opinion, submit our theory to the crucible in more 
than one experiment, and, after all our labor, be content to find 
that much remains unexplained." 
*/*.******** & * 

4 ' In order to understand the question, we must make a de- 
mand upon our imagination, and endeaver to return, in thought 
at least, to the conditions of a people in the myth-forming age — 
the age, that is to say, in which not only were myths naturally 
made, but all the thinking of a nation took the form of myths. 
We must go back to a time when there were no written records, 
when there were no systems of thought, when language had not 
been subjected to analysis of any kind, when science had not 



DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH 63 

begun to exist, when abstract notions were unknown, when his- 
tory was impossible, and when the whole world was a land of 
miracles. There was no check then laid upon fancy, because 
nothing was as yet conceived as thought, but everything existed 
as sensation. In this infancy the nation told itself stories and 
believed them. The same faculties of the mind which after- 
wards gave birth to poetry and theology, philosophy and state- 
craft, science and history, were now so ill-defined and merely 
germinal that they produced but fables. The fables they pro- 
symond's the- duced were infinite in number and variety, beauti- 
product of y the a tiful, and so pregnant with thought under the 
fancy. guise of fancy that long centuries scarcely sufficed 

for disengaging all that they contained. Greek mythology had 
already in itself all Greece, as the seed enfolds the plant. 
• Poetry,' says Vico, ' which was the first form of wisdom, began 
with a system of thought, not reasoned or abstract, as ours is 
now, but felt and imagined, as was natural in the case of those 
primitive human beings who had developed no reasoning facul- 
ties but were all made up of senses in the highest physical per- 
fection, and of most vigorous imaginations. In their total igno- 
rance of causes they wondered at everything, and their poetry 
was all divine, because they ascribed to gods the objects of their 
wonder, and thought that beings like themselves, but greater, 
could alone have caused them. Thus they were like children 
whom we notice taking into their hands inanimate things, and 
playing and talking with them as though they were living per- 
sons. When thunder terrified them, they attributed their own 
nature to the phenomenon; and being apt to express their most 
violent passions by howls and roarings, they conceived heaven as 
a vast bod}', which gave notice of its anger by lightnings and 
thunderings. The whole of nature, in like manner, they imag- 
ined to be a vast animated body, capable of feeling and passion.'" 

Perhaps no better illustration of the lack of abstract 
thought among primitive peoples, and the development 
of such thought, can be given, than is found in the 
words of Max Miiller. 



64 the world's literature 

He tells us that the legends of India as found in the 
Sanskrit — 

" supply missing links in our intellectual ancestry far more im- 
The origin of poi'tant than the missing link (which we can well 

abstract " ° 

thought. afford to miss) between the ape and the man:" 

that we know Sanskrit at a far earlier period than 
Greek — 

" The world had known Latin and Greek for centuries, and it 
was felt, no doubt, that there was some kind of a similarity be- 
tween the two. But how was that similarity to be explained ? 
Sometimes Latin was supposed to give the key to the formation 
of a Greek w r ord, sometimes Greek seemed to betray the secret of 
the origin of a Latin word. Afterwards, when the ancient Teu- 
tonic languages, such as the Gothic and Anglo-Saxon, and the 
ancient Celtic and Slavonic languages, too, came to be studied, 
no one could help seeing a certain family likeness among them 
all. But how such a likeness between these languages came to 
be; and how, what is far more difficult to explain, such striking 
differences, too, between these languages came to be, remained a 
mystery and gave rise to the most gratuitous theories, most of 
them devoid of all scientific foundation. As soon, however, as 
The relation of Sanskrit stepped into the midst of these languages 

Sanskrit to • ,. i j. ^ , . 

later words. there came light and warmth and mutual recogni- 
tion. They all ceased to be strangers, and each fell of its own 
accord into its right place. Sanskrit was the eldest sister of them 
all, and could tell of many things which the other members of 
the family had quite forgotten. Still the other languages, too, 
had each its own tale to tell; and it is out of all their tales to- 
gether that a chapter in the human mind has been put together, 
which in some respects is more important to us than any of the 
other chapters, the Jewish, the Greek, the Latin, or the Saxon. 
The process by which that ancient chapter of history was recov- 
ered is very simple. Take the words which occur in the same 
form and with the same meaning in all the seven branches of the 
Aryan family, and you have in them the most genuine and 
trustworthy records in which to read the thoughts of our true 
ancestors, before they had become Hindus, or Persians, or 



DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH 65 

Greeks, or Romans, or Celts, or Teutons, or Slaves. Of course, 
some of these ancient charters may have been lost in one or 
other of these seven branches of the Aryan family, but even then, 
if they are found in six, or five, or four, or three, or even two of 
its original branches, the probability remains, unless we can 
prove a later historical contact between these languages, that 
these words existed before the great Aryan separation. If we 
find aqui, meaning fire, in Sanskrit, and ignis, meaning fire in 
Latin, we may safely conclude that fire was known to the undi- 
vided Aryans, even if no trace of the same name of fire occurred 
anywhere else. And why? Because there is no indication that 
Latin remained longer united with Sanskrit than any of the 
other Aryan languages, or that Latin could have borrowed such 
a word from Sanskrit after these two languages had once become 
distinct. We have, however, the Lithuanian's ugnis, and the 
Scottish ingle, to show that the Slavonic, and possibly the Teu- 
The origin of tonic languages also, knew the same word for fire, 
Ire^omSoiTto though they replaced it in time by other words. 
Se e s n ei an ~ Words, like all other things, will die, and why they 
piamed. should live on in one soil, and wither away and perish 

in another, is not always easy to say. What has become of 
ignis, for instance, in all the Romanic languages? It has with- 
ered away and perished, probably because after losing its final 
unaccentuated syllable, it became awkward to pronounce; and 
another word, focus, which in Latin meant fire-place, hearth, 
altar, has taken its place. 

Suppose we wanted to know whether the ancient Aryans, be- 
fore their separation, knew the mouse, we should only have to 
consult the principal Aryan dictionaries, and we should find in 
Sanskrit mush, in Greek v-vs, in Latin mus, in Old Slavonic myse, 
in Old High German mus, enabling us to say that, at a time so 
distant from us that we feel inclined to measure it b\~ Indian 
rather than by our own chronology, the mouse was known — . 
that is, was named, was conceived -and recognized as a species of 
its own, not to be confounded with any other vermin. 

And if we were to ask whether the enemy of the mouse, the 
cat, was known at the same distant time, we should feel justified 
in saying decidedly. Xo. The cat is called in Sanskrit mar^ara 



THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 



and vidala. In Greek and Latin the words usually given as 
names of the cat, yaXery and alAovpo?, mustella and feles, did not 
originally signify the tame cat, but the weasel or marten. The 
name for the real cat in Greek was ^arm in Latin catus, and these 
words have supplied the names for cat in all the Teutonic, Sla- 
vonic, and Celtic languages. The animal itself, so far as we 
know at present, came to Europe from Egypt. 

Ideas common .-,-., -, . -. ,. . 

to different where it had been worshipped for centuries and 

nations. 

tamed; and as this arrival probably dates from the 
fourth century a. d., Ave can well understand that no common 
name for it could have existed when the Aryan nations separated. 

In this way a more or less complete picture of the state of 
civilization, previous to the Aryan separation, can be and has 
been reconstructed, like a mosaic put together with the fragments 
of ancient stones; and I doubt whether,* in tracing the history of 
the human mind, we shall ever reach to a lower stratum than 
that which is revealed to us by the converging rays of the differ- 
ent Aryan languages. 

Nor is that all; for even that earliest Aryan language, as it 
has been reconstructed from the ruins scattered about in India, 
Greece, Italy, and Germany, is clearly the result of a long, long 
process of thought. One shrinks from chronological limitations 
when looking into such distant periods of life. But if we find 
Sanskrit as a perfect literary language, totally different from 
Greek and Latin, 1500 B. C, where can those streams of San- 
skrit, Greek, and Latin meet, as we trace them back to their com- 
mon source? And then, when we have followed these mighty 
national streams back to their common meeting point, even then 
that common language looks like a rock washed down and 
smoothed for ages by the ebb and flow of thought. We find in 
that language such a compound, for instance, as asmi, I am, 
Greek lo-/at. What would other languages give for such a pure 
concept as I am? They may say / stand, or I live, or I grow or 
I turn, but it is given to few languages only to be able to say lam. 
, Tons nothing seems more natural than the auxiliary 

The relation of ° 

Sanskrit to ab- V erb I am: but, in realitv, no work of art has re- 

stract thought. ' * ' 

quired greater efforts than this little word I am. 
And all those efforts lie beneath the level of the common earliest 



DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH 6*7 

Aryan speech. Man}- different ways were open, were tried, too, 
in order to arrive at such a compound as asmi, and such a con- 
cept as lam. But all were given up, and this one alone remained, 
and was preserved forever in all the languages and all the dialects 
of the Aryan family. In as-mi, as is the root, and in the com- 
pound as-mi, the predicative root as, to be, is predicated of mi. [. 
But no language could ever produce at once so empty, or if you 
like, so general a root as as, to be. As meant originally to breathe. 
and from it we have asu, breath, spirit, life, also as the mouth, 
Latin os oris. By constant wear and tear this root as, to breathe, 
had first to lose all signs of its original material character before 
it could convey that purely abstraet meaning of existence, with- 
out any qualification, which has rendered to the higher operations 
of thought the same service which the nought, likewise the in- 
vention of Indian genius, has to render in arithmetic. Who will 
say how long the friction lasted which changed as, to breathe, 
into as, to be? And even a root as, to breathe, was an Ayran 
root, not Semitic, nor Turanian. It possessed an historical in- 
dividuality — it was the work of our forefathers, and represents a 
thread which unites us in our thoughts and words with those who 
first thought for us, with those who first spoke for us, and whose 
thoughts and words men are still thinking and speaking, though 
divided from them by thousands, it may be by hundreds of thou- 
sands of years." 

So much for the development of the power of ab- 
stract thought which is necessary for the perfecting of 
the myth or giving it a moral significance, and now let 
us turn to the phenomena of nature as a basis for the 
story aside from all moral intent. 

" In the childhood of the world," says Symonds. " when the 
Greek myths came into existence, the sun was called a shepherd 
The nature the- an( ^ tne C 1° U( ^ S were his sheep: or an archer, and the 
ory - sunbeams were his arrows. It was easier then to 

think of the sea as a husky-voiced and turbulent old man. whose 
true ^orm none might clearly know, because he changed so often 
and was so secret in his ways, who shook the earth in his anger. 
and had the white-maned billows of the deep for horses, than to 



68 the world's literature 

form a theory of the tides. The spring of the year became a 
beautiful youth, beloved by the whole earth, or beloved, like 
Hyacinthus, by the sun; or, like Adonis, by the queen of beauty, 
over whom the fate of death was suspended, and for whose loss 
annual mourning was made. Such tales the Greeks told them- 
selves in their youth, and it would be wrong to suppose that de- 
liberate fiction played any part in their creation. To conceive of 
the world thus was natural to the whole race, and the tales that 
sprang up formed the substance of their intellectual activity. 
Here, then, if anywhere, we watch the process of a people in its 
entirety contributing to form a body of thought, projecting itself 
into a common and unconscious work of art. Nor will it avail 
to demur that behind the Greeks there stretched a dim and dis- 
tant past, that many of their myths had already taken shape, to 
some extent, before the separation of the Aryan family. 

In order further to illustrate the conditions of the myth- 
forming age, a passage from the Dichtung und Wahrheit of 
The theory that Goethe might be quoted. If it is not a mere fanc;>" 
creaTure 1 ©! the to suppose that the individual lives, to some extent 
fancy. ^ j eas ^ m ^^ own se jf ^ e jife of humanity, and 

therefore to conclude that the childhood of the world can be mir- 
rored in the childhood of a man, a poet like Goethe is precisely 
fitted, by the record of his own boyhood, to throw light upon the 
early operations of the human mind. For, in one sense of the 
term, the myth-making faculty never dies with poets. In their 
own persons they prolong the youth and the adolescence of the 
race, retaining the faculty, now nearly lost to all, of looking on 
the universe as living. Goethe, then, relates that when he was 
at school at Frankfort, he used to invent stories about himself 
and the places he frequented, half consciously and half by a 
spontaneous working of his fancy. These stories he told to his 
school-fellows so vividly that they accepted them as fact. ' It 
greatly rejoiced them,' he says, 'to know that such wonderful 
Goethe's the- things could befall one of their own playmates; noi- 
sette myth was ** an 3 7 narm that they did not understand how 
fiction. j could find time and space for such adventures, as 

they must have been pretty well aware of my comings and go- 
ings, and how I occupied the whole day.' He goes on to recount 



DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH 69 

one of these marvelous narratives. The scene of it was laid in 
Frankfort, in a street familiar to his school-fellows. Down this 
street, which had a long blank wall surmounted by trees, he sup- 
posed himself to have been walking one day, and to have found 
a door in the wall, not noticed by him on any previous occasion. 
His curiosity being aroused, he knocked at the doer, and, after 
some delay, was admitted. Inside he found a garden full of 
wonders — fountains and fair nymphs, exotic shrubs and quaint 
old men, magicians, knights, sylphs and all the proper furniture 
of a romance. Goethe's comrades, the first time they heard 
him describe this enchanted pleasure-ground in glowing terms, 
already more than half believed in its existence; ' and,' says the 
poet, ' each of them visited alone the place, without confiding it 
to me or to the others, and discovered the nut-trees, but none 
found the door.' Still, they did not disbelieve what Goethe told 
them, but preferred to imagine that the magic door had once, at 
least, been seen by him and opened for him only, though it re- 
mained invisible and closed for them. And herein they were lit- 
erally right, for Goethe trod on enchanted ground of poetry which 
few can hope to win. The story proved so fascinating that he 
had to tell it over and over again, always repeating the same or- 
der of events, until, he says, ' by the uniformity of the narrative 
I converted the fable into truth in the minds of rny hearers.' 

This, then, may be used as an illustration of the myth-mak- 
ing faculty. All that was needed for the growth of myths was 
symonds' creative mind on one side and receptive and believ- 

myth a pro- in £ mmd on the other. It did not, probably, require 
r l ancy° f inone a Goethe to make a myth, though we may still be- 
?fmp°i2 faith in lieve tnat the greatest and best myths owed their 
another. form to the intervention at some period of un- 

known and unacknowledged Goethes. Before the logical faculty 
had been awakened, when the critical faculty had not been 
aroused, when sympthy was quick, language fertile, fancy 
abounding in the highest degree, belief sincere, there was nothing 
to check mythopoetry. The nation had to make the step from 
boyhood to adolescence before the impulse ceased. Nor was 
there any education from without in a fixed body of s\ T stemized 
thought to coerce its freedom. Forming the first activity of the 



TO * THE WOKLD's LITERATURE 

intellect, it held in solution, as it were, the rudiments of religion 
and morality, of politics, geography and history. Had there 
been any one to ask the myth-maker: Who told you this strange 
tale? What is your authority for imposing it upon us? he would 
have answered: The goddess told me, the divine daughter of 
memory, as I walked alone. And this he would sincerely and 
conscientiously have believed; and those who heard him would 
have given credence to his words; and thus his intuitions became 
their intuitions. Creative faculty and credence, insight and 
sympathy, two forms of the same as yet scarcely divided opera- 
tions of 'the mind, gave permanence to myths. What the fathers 
received they transmitted to their sons. Successive generations 
dealt freely with them, moulding and remodelling, within the 
limits set upon the genius of the race. Hundreds may have been 
produced simultaneously, and among them must have raged a 
fierce struggle for existence, so that multitudes perished or were 
hopelessly defaced, just as in the animal and vegetable kingdoms 
whole species disappear or survive only in fragments and fossils. 
It cannot be too often repeated that the power which presided 
over the transmission of the myth was the spirit of the people. 
An inherent selective instinct in the nation determined which of 
them should ultimately survive; and thus a body of legend, truly 
national, was formed, in which the nation saw itself reflected. 
When, therefore, we say that Greek mythology is Hellenic and 
original, we are admitting this unconscious, silent, steady, irre- 
sistible faculty of the mind to fashion gods in its own image, to 
come to a knowledge of itself in its divinities, to create a glorified 
likeness of all that it admires in its own. nature, to deify its truest 
and its best, and to invest its thought in an imperishable form of 
art. Xor here again will it avail to demur that Zeus was origin- 
ally the open sky, Pallas the dawn, Phoebus and Artemis the sun 
and moon. The student of the Greeks accepts this information 
The faculty placidlv and gratefully from the philologer; but he 

which takes . _.'.,_ _. -r^i 

some phenome- passes immediatelv bevond it. h or him Zeus, Pal- 

non in nature ;••'.«-« . , , , 

as the basis of las, Phoebus, Artemis are no longer the skv and 

a mvth is the 

same faculty dawn, the sun and moon. \\ hatever their origin 

that endows 

that myth with mav have been, the verv mvth-forming process 

moral signifi- * - o r- 

cance. placed them in quite a different and more important 



DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH 7 I 

relation to Greek thought when it handed them over to Homer 
and Hesiod. 

There was nothing in the consciousness of the prehistoric 
Greeks which did not take the form of myths. Consequently 
their mythology, instead of being a compact s}'Stem of polytheism, 
is really a whole mass of thought, belonging to a particular 
period of human history, when it was impossible to think except 
by pictures, or to record impressions of the world except in stories. 

That all these tales are religious or semi-religious, — concerned, 
that is to say, with deities — must be explained by the tendency 
of mankind at an early period of culture to conceive the powers 
of nature as persons, and to dignify them with superhuman at- 
tributes. To the apprehension of an infantine humanity every- 
thing is a god. Viewed even as a Pantheon, a system embracing 
all the deities of a nation, reduced to rule and order by subsequent 
reflection. Greek mythology is, therefore, a mass of the most varied 
material. Side by side with some of the sublimest and most 
beautiful conceptions which the mind has ever produced, we find 
in it much that is absurd and trivial and revolting. Different 
Each nation a o es an d conditions of thought have left their pro- 
m^th-makfng ducts embedded in its strange conglomerate. While 
it contains fragments of fossilized stories, the mean- 
ing of which has either been misunderstood or can only be ex- 
plained by reference to barbaric customs, it also contains, emer- 
gent from the rest and towering above the rubbish, the serene 
forms of the Olympians. Those furnish the vital and important 
elements of Greek mythology. To perfect them was the work of 
poets and sculptors in the brief, bright, blooming time of Hellas. 
Yet. when we pay these deities homage in the temple of the 
human spirit, let us never forget that they first received form in 
the myth-making age — the age of the disease of language as Max 
Muller whimsically states it." 

The linguistic theory rests upon the analysis of lan- 
guage, and maintains that mythology is a tangled con- 
The Linguistic dition of words arising from the separation 

theory of the a ° x 

inyfhs?Max °^ tne Aryan family. While men remained 
s eoiy. j n t ^ e same pi ace the words they spoke had 



72 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

one meaning, and could not be misunderstood. But as 
time went on and they were scattered, the names they 
gave to the sun, moon and clouds and other things came 
Language lives to have new and different meanings. In this 

a life apart ° 

from thought, wa y they still spoke of Leto as the mother 
of Apollo long after they had forgotten that Leto meant 
darkness. Thus the myth became a phase of language 
considered apart from anything else. 

Max Miiller, who is the strongest defender of this 
theory, and perhaps the father of it, says: 

"Mythology is a disease of language. A myth means a 
word, but a word which, from being a name or an attribute, has 
been allowed to assume a more substantial existence. Under 
mythology I include every case in which language assumes an 
Mythology a independent power and reacts on the mind, in- 

branch of phi- 
lology, stead of being, as it was intended to be, the mere 

realization and outward embodiment of the mind." 

The theory advanced by Symonds and illustrated by 

the story of Goethe, that the myth originated in the 

fancy of one person, supplemented by sim- 

Short review J r ? rr J 

S?no£t£e^e- V^ e credulity m another, lowers the dignity 

ceding theories. Qf ^ ^^ after 1()oking ftt it from Rug . 

kin's point of view; and yet there is a shade of earnest- 
ness and truth in his arguments. It seems entirely 
reasonable, too, that there may be some truth in the 
theory of Max Miiller that the myth owes its origin to 
incidents in the life of words as shown in the second 
quotation from him, and that words owe their signifi- 
cance to the separation of the Aryan family, as shown 
in the previous quotation, where he traces the develop- 
ment of " I am." 

The theory of Max Miiller, the linguistic theory, is 
met by Symonds with a criticism which deserves atten- 



DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH 73 

tion. He says that to suppose language can live a life 
apart from thought and triumph over the human mind 
and impose figments on the human intellect, is probably 
due to a too exclusive study of language in itself; and 
that it is an inevitable inference that the soul of a great 
nation has passed through a period of disease, and that 
this disease has been the direct cause of the highest art 
on which humanity has to pride itself. 

That corruption and disease may be directly efficient 
in producing results so beautiful and lasting is an ob- 
jection which he refuses to try to overcome. 

Among the most worthless theories concerning the 
origin of the myths is the one that they are corrupt 
The scriptural renderings of Bible stories, or degradations 
theory - of the truth of Revelation. This theory is 

of an uncritical age, and emanated from minds of lesser 
judgment. According to this theory, the character of 
Samson is read into Hercules, the Saviour is found in 
Prometheus, the devil in Kronos, and the story of Pan- 
dora is a variation of the story of Eve. 

Another theory, almost equally worthless, is the the- 
ory that the myth was an invention of priests, originated 
The Allegorical to teach truths which could not be otherwise 
theory. imparted; each myth was an allegory or 

sort of parable. 

A sixth way of dealing with the myth is to regard it 

The Fetich the- as an outgrowth of fetichism; and a seventh 

view is that myths were at first only poems. 

"This theory," says Symonds, "is not, at first sight, very 

different from that which is involved in the account already 

The Poetical given of the myth-making faculty. It is clear 

that the stories of Galatea, of Pan* and Pitys, of 

*Pan, the god of green fields, herdsmen, hunting and fishing. 



74 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

Hesperus* and Hymenaeus,t and, in a deeper sense, perhaps, of 
Prometheus \ and Pandora, § are pure poems — that is to say, the 
power which produced them was analogous to the power which 
we observe in poetic creation at the present day, and which has 
continued the myth-making age into the nineteenth century. 

Yet we should lose a great deal in exactitude and fulness of 
conception if we identified mythology with poetry. Poetty is 
conscious of its aim; it demands a fixed form; it knows itself to 
be an art, and, as an art, to be different from religion and distin- 
guished from history. Now, mythology in its origin was antece- 
dent to all such distinctions, and to all the conscious adaptations 
of means to ends. Behind the oldest poetry which we possess 
there looms a background of mythology, substantially existing, 
already expressed in language, nebulous, potential, containing in 
itself the germs of all the several productions of the human intel- 
lect. The whole intellect is there in embryo; and behind myth- 
ology nothing is discoverable but thought and language in the 
same sphere. Therefore we lose rather than gain by a too strict 
adherence to what may be termed the poetical hypothesis, al- 
though the analogy of poetry, and of poetry alone, places us at 
the right point of view for comprehending the exercise of the 
myth-making faculty." 

The poetical theory is beautifully illustrated in 
James Russell Lowell's " The Finding of the Lyre," al- 
though we find through his works, traces of his looking 
at the origin of the myth from many standpoints: 

*Hesperus, the god of the western heaven and father of the 
Hesperides ; who guarded the golden apples. 

tHymen, or Hymenaeus, the god of marriage, was worshipped by 
Greeks and Romans. At bridal festivities a sacrifice was offered 
him. 

^Prometheus (pronounced Prom^thuse) , or Forethought, the god 
who brought fire to men and taught them its use. For this offense 
he was chained to a rocky height, where a vulture plucked out his 
vitals as fast as they could grow in. 

§Pandora, the first woman, according to Greek mythology, was 
fashioned by Vulcan as a plague to men. 



DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH *75 

THE FINDING OF THE LYRE. 

(Permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co.) 

" There lay upon the ocean's shore 

What once a tortoise served to cover. 
A year and more, with rush and roar, 

The surf had rolled it over. 
Had played with it and flung it by. 

As wind and weather might decide it. 
Then tossed it high where sand-drifts dry 

Cheap burial might provide it. 

It rested there to bleach or tan. 

The rains had soaked, the suns had burned it; 
With many a ban the fisherman 

Had stumbled o'er and spurned it; 
And there the fisher-girl would stay, 

Conjecturing with her brother 
How in their play the poor estray 

Might serve some use or other. 

So there it lay through wet and dry, 

As empty as the last new sonnet. 
Till by and by came Mercury, 

And, having mused upon it. 
" Why, here," cried he, "the thing of things 

In shape, material, and dimension! 
Give it but strings, and, lo, it sings, 

A wonderful invention ! " 

So said, so done; the chords he strained, 

And, as his fingers o'er them hovered. 
The shell disdained a soul had gained. 

The lyre had been discovered. 
O empty world that round us lies, 

Dead shell, of soul and thought forsaken. 
Brought we but eyes like Mercury's, 

In thee what songs should waken! " 

The Myth-making Age is always with us. It is 
with us in the stories told by each new child that is born 



*76 THE WORLD'S LITERATUKE 

into the world in its attempts to account for the won- 
ders of nature. A young boy came running into the 
house not long since, his eyes gleaming with delight be- 
cause he had discovered a little girl making a myth. 
She had been trying to account for the sun's constancy 
in the heavens. Each nation has had its myth-making 
age. Even the American literature sums up in its 
The myth-mak- Great Stone Face, in The Great Carbuncle, 
ifiSstrate^fi 8 in the Song of Hiawatha, and in its Rip Van 

American ° ' x 

writers. Winkle the thoughts which correspond to the 

Greek myth-forming period. In our own poets we find 
the myth-making faculty as active as ever it was in the 
poets of old. The spirit which gave rise to the myth of 
Apollo is the same which in our Indiana poet — James 
Whitcomb Riley — gave the world these most musical of 
lines: *<< O the South Wind and the Sun! 

The myth-mak- How each loved the other one — 
shlin fXe Full of fancy-full of folly- 
Sam™ 8 whit- Full of jollity and fun ! 

comb Riley. Hqw ^^ romped and ran about) 

Like two boys when school is out, 
With glowing face and lisping lip, 
Low laugh and lifted shout! 

And the South Wind — he was dressed 

With a ribbon round his breast 
That floated, flapped and fluttered 

Tn a riotous unrest; 

And a drapery of mist 

From the shoulder and the wrist 
Flowing backward with the motion 

Of the waving hand he kissed. 

And the sun had on a crown 
Wrought of gilded thistledown, 
And a scarf of velvet vapor, 

*By permission of The Bowen-Merrill Co. 



DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH 77 

And a raveled-rainbow gown; 

And his tinsel-tangled hair. 

Tossed and lost upon the air, 
Was glossier and flossier 

Than any anywhere. 

And the South Wind's eyes were two 

Little dancing drops of dew, 
As he puffed his cheeks, and pursed his lips. 

And blew, and blew, and blew! 

And the sun's — like diamond stone 

Brighter yet than ever known, 
As he knit his brows and held his breath 

And shone, and shone, and shone. 

And this pair of merry fays 

Wandered through the summer days; 
Arm in arm they went together 

Over heights of morning haze — 

Over slanting slopes of lawn 

They went on, and on, and on 
Where the daisies looked like star-tracks 

Trailing up and down the dawn. 

And where'er they found the top 

Of a wheat-stalk droop and lop 
They chucked it underneath the chin 

And praised the lavish crop, 

Till it lifted with the pride 

Of the heads it grew beside, 
And then the South Wind and the Sun 

Went onward satisfied. 

* ^J * * ^ * 

By the brook with mossy brink, 

Where the cattle came to drink. 
They trilled and piped and whistled 

With the thrush and bobolink. 

Till the kine, in listless pause. 

Switched their tails in mute applause, 
With lifted heads, and dreamy eyes 

And bubble-dripping jaws. 



IS the world's literature 

# * -5* •* * * ■* 

Where the dusty highway leads, 

High above the wayside weeds; 
They sowed the air with butterflies 

Like blooming flower seeds, 

Till the dull grasshopper sprung 

Half a man's height up, and hung 
Tranced in the heat, with w birring wings 

And sung, and sung, and sung." 

# * *■ # * * * 

Ruskin's thought, that the myth-making power be- 
longs to the artistic or creative group of men and 
The mythmak- women, to those who "see visions and 
Lo^eff, U LongJ dream dreams," is again illustrated in these 

fellow and Bur- ° 

roughs. ii neg f Lowell's Violet: 

' ' Thy little heart, that hath with love 
Grown colored like the sky above, 
On which thou lookest ever, " 

and in Longfellow's The Building of the Ship, the 
" lordly pines " of Maine are endowed with personal 

qualities: 

" Those captive kings so straight and tall. 
To be shorn of their streaming hair; 
And, naked and bare, 
To feel the stress and the strain 
Of the wind and the reeling main, 
Whose roar would remind them forever more 
Of their native forests they should not see again." 

It is the myth-poetic faculty in John Burroughs 
which makes his prose so charming: 

' ' The Mansard gives to the country house a smart, dapper 
appearance, and the effect of being perched up, and looking 
about for compliments. Such houses seem to be ready to make 
the military salute as you pass them. " ■ ' All things make 
friends with a stone house — the mosses and lichens, and vines 
and birds. It is kindred to the earth and the elements, and 



DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH 79 

makes itself at home in any situation." "I saw little in the 
waves that suggested steeds, but more that reminded of huge 
sheep. At times they would come wallowing ashore precisely 
like a great flock or mob of woolly-headed sheep; the wave 
breajks far out, and then comes that rushing line of tossing, leap- 
ing woolly heads and shoulders, diminishing as it comes, and 
leaving the space behind it strewn with foam." 

One of the most notable of the theories concerning 
the origin of myths, perhaps the hypothesis which has 
gained the widest credence and is rapidly becoming the 
favorite method of accounting for them, is the solar 
theory, which so shades into all others that at times it 
seems to be impossible to distinguish it from the nature 
theory, the poetical or the linguistic. 

" The key which has unlocked almost all the secrets of 
mythology," says Prof. Cox, "was placed in our hands by Max 
The solar the- Miiller, who has done more than all other writers to 
bring out the exquisite and touching poetry that 
underlies these ancient legends. He has shown us that in this 
their first shape, these sayings were all perfectly natural, and 
marvellously beautiful and true. We see the lovely evening twi- 
light die out before the coming night, but when the men of long 
ago saw this they said that the beautiful Eu^dike (Eurydice) 
had been stung by the serpent of darkness, and that Orpheus* 
was gone to fetch her from the land of the dead. We see 
the light which had vanished in the west reappear in the 
east; but they said that Eurydike was returning to the earth. 
And as this tender light is seen no more when the sun himself is 
risen, they said that Orpheus had turned round too soon to look 
at her, and so was parted from the wife whom he loved so dearly. 

*Orpheus, the god of music, won the love of the beautiful Eury- 
dice (Eurydike), who died from the bite of a snake. Heart- 
broken at her loss, he determined to seek her among the shades 
below. He soothed Cerberus, the three-headed dog guarding 
Hades, and obtained his bride from Proserpine, on condition that 
he should lead her without looking on her face until she had 
reached earth. Forgetting his promise, he turned to see if she 
was following, when she vanished forever. The grief silenced his 
music. 



80 the world's literature 

And as it is with this sad and beautiful tale, so it is with all 
of those which may seem to you coarse, or dull, or ugly. They 
are so only because the real meaning of the names has been half 
forgotten or wholly lost. 

(Edipus* and Perseus, f we are told, killed their parents, but 
it is only because the sun was supposed to kill the darkness 
Prof, cox's the- f rom which it seems to spring. So again, it was 
SSiiuafof 118 sa *d that the sun was united in the evening to the 
Mythology. light from which he rose in the morning; but in the 
latter story that OEdipus became the husband of his mother 
Iocasta (Jocasta), and a terrible history was built up on this no- 
tion. But, as you see, none of these fearful or disgusting stories 
were ever made on purpose. 

No one ever sat down to describe gods and great heroes as do- 
ing things which all decent men would be ashamed to think of. 
There can scarcely be a greater mistake than to suppose that 
whole nations were suddenly seized with a strange madness, 
which drove them to invent all sorts of ridiculous and contempti- 
ble tales, and that every nation has at some time or other gone 
mad in this way. You must not fancy that things so foolish or 
wicked were done, especially by that people who have left us 
the beautiful legends of Demeter and Niobe, J and Cadmus, § of 
Helen and (Enone, || of Perseus and Sarpedon.1T It may be 

*CEdipus, a great hero of Thebes. 

tPerseus was a great hero of Argos. He killed the Gorgon 
Medusa as the greatest of his feats. 

JNiobe, daughter of Tantalus, had a family of sons and daugh- 
ters, whose beauty, in their mother's eyes, outshone that of the 
children of Leto ; who, taking offense at this presumption, urged 
her son Apollo to shoot down Niobe' s children. Niobe was trans- 
formed to a rock down which tears trickled silently. 

§Cadmus, founder of Thebes, a descendent of the sea-god Posei- 
don (Neptune) , and a sister of Europa. He slew a dragon, sowed 
its teeth, and there sprang up aii army of wild armed giants, 
called Spartae. By throwing a stone among them, Cadmus so 
aroused their anger that they fell upon each other with such vio- 
lence that they were all slain but five. These became the founders 
of the noblest families of Thebes. 

|| iEnone, wife of Paris, daughter of the beautiful stream 
Kebren. When wounded mortally, Paris fled to iEnone, whom he 
had deserted, but she refused to relieve him, and died on his 
funeral pile. 

ISarpedon, king of Lycia (the bright land), was a hero of the 
Trojan war. 



DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH 81 

absurd to be told that Cronos (the father of Zeus, or Jupiter,) 
swallowed up his own children; but we know it is not absurd to 
say that time swallows up the days which spring from it; and 
the old phrase meant simply this and nothing more, although 
before the people came to Greece they had forgotten its meaning. 

Thus we may look upon mythology as on something exceed- 
ingly beautiful, over which much dust has settled, disfiguring 
some parts and hiding others. Most of this dust we are able now 
to sweep away, and then the jewels hidden beneath it shine again 
in all their brilliancy and purity. You may be sure that in all 
of these tales there is nothing of which, in its old shape, we ought 
to be ashamed, and that when you have lifted the veil which 
conceals them, you will find only true and beautiful thoughts 
which are as much ours as ever they were the thoughts of men 
who lived in that very early time. The task of removing this 
covering is generally as easy as it is delightful. Many of these, 
perhaps most of them, explain themselves. Phoebus (the shining 
one) is born in Delos (the bright land); he is the son of Leto (the 
darkness); he slays the children of Niobe (the clouds which am 
dried up by the sun), Europa (the broad shining morning) is 
daughter of Telephassa (who gleams from afar). The cattle of 
Helios (the sun) are driven to their pastures by Phaethusa and 
Lampeti§, the bright and glistening children of Neaira (the early 
morning). So, as the sun goes from east to west, Europa is car- 
ried westward, and Telephassa dies on the western plains of Thes- 
saly, just as the twilight dies out in the western sky." 

In his essay on the origin of folk-lore, John Fiske 
takes up the same subject in an equally enthusiastic spirit.* 
He tells us that it is philology which has enabled us 
to interpret the primitive thoughts of mankind on as 
sound principles as underlie the molecular movement in 
physics. 

1 ' A large number of the names of Greek gods and heroes have 
no meaning in the Greek language; but these names occur also 
in Sanskrit, with plain physical meanings. In the Veda* we find 

*Veda, the oldest Hindoo sacred volume. 



82 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

Zeus or Jupiter (Dyauspiter) meaning the sky, and Sarameias or 
Hermes, meaning the breeze of a summer morning. We find 
Athena (Ahana) meaning the light of daybreak; and 
dorses the we are thus enabled to understand why the Greek 

01 J ' described her as sprung from the forehead of Zeus. 
There too we find Helena (Sarama), the fickle twilight, whom the 
Panis, or night demons, who serve as the prototypes of the Hellenic 
Paris, strive to seduce from her allegiance to the solar monarch."' 

Again, 

"In the Yedas the Trojan war is carried on in the sky, between 
the bright deities and the demons of night; but the Greek poet, in- 
fluenced perhaps by some dim historical tradition, has located the 
contest on the shore of the Hellespont, and in his mind the actors, 
though superhuman, are still completely anthropomorphic or 
human." 

Again, 

4 'We are justified in distinguishing between a myth and a 
legend, While a legend is usually confined to one or two locali- 
ties, and is not told of more than one or two persons, it is charac- 
teristic of a myth that it is spread, in one form or other, over a 
large part of the earth, the leading incidents remaining constant, 
while the names and often the motives vary with each locality." 

This author proceeds to illustrate the point by citing 
many illustrations of stories found in different lands 
under various guises but all depending on the same con- 
ditions. He finds the sun, though ever victorious in 
open contest with his enemies, nevertheless not invul- 
nerable, and proves to his own satisfaction that Achilles, 
the hero of the Iliad, is identical with Siegfried of the 
Norse mythology, with Hercules, with Ulysses, Apollo, 
William Tell and Perseus. These heroes are all wonder- 
ful marksmen. Most of them are marked out by signs 
and wonders before they leave their cradles. Some of 
them slay serpents or dragons in their early childhood 
or youth. Their death not unfrequently results from a 



DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH 83 

wound in the only vulnerable part of their body. Their 
wanderings are usually from east to west and generally 
indicate descriptions of the movements of the sun. This 
very plausible theory has provoked the following amusing 
and pungent criticism from J. Addington Symonds: 

"In the hands of the solar theorists all the myths are made to 
refer to the sun and the moon, to dawn and evening. The hand- 
books of mythology which are now in vogue in 
ciVm onthe 111:i " England expound this solar theory so persistently 
that it is probable a race is growing up who fancy 
that tjie early Greeks talked with most damnable iteration of 
nothing but the weather, and that their conversation on that 
fruitful topic fell sick of some disease, breeding the tales of Thebes 
and Achilles and Pelop's line, as a child breeds measles." 

The solar theory is certainly very fascinating, for 
the human mind loves to reason by analogy, but it is 
well for us to be warned against cultivating too great a 
facility for applying the solar theory to every story, 
whether fabulous or historical. 

" It is enough to bear in mind that, however important the 
sun was to the ancient Aryans, he could not have been every- 
thing," Symonds tells us; and "'he was, after all, but one among 
many objects of interest: and what requires to be still more re- 
membered is that the Greeks themselves, in dealing with the 
tale of Achilles or of Kephalos* and Prokris, did not know that 
they w r ere handling solar stories. It is therefore, misleading to 
base hand-books which serve as introductions to Greek literature 
and art upon speculation about the solar ground-work of the 
myths. In the works of Homer and Hesiod, of iEschylus and 
Sophocles, the myths were animated with spiritual, intellectual 
and moral life. To draw the lessons from them which those 
poets drew, to demonstrate the grandeur of the imagination 
which could deal with those primeval tragic tales, should be the 
object of the educator; not to fill his pages with extremely 

*Kephalos, a word meaning the head of the sun. Kephalos (or 
Cephalus) was the husband of Prokxis (the dew) whom he slew, 



84 the world's literature 

doubtful matter about the sun and dawn ad infinitum. The true 
relation of the solar theory to a Greek myth may be illustrated 
by the tale of Herakles, whom the Greeks themselves may per- 
haps have recognized as a solar deity since Herodotus identified 
him with a Phoenician god. We are therefore justified in deal- 
ing with this hero as a personification of the sun. Herakles is 
the child of Zeus. He strangles in his cradle the serpents of the 
night. He loves Iole, or the violet-colored clouds of the dawn. 
He performs twelve labors, corresponding to the twelve months 
of the solar year. He dies of a poisoned robe amid flames that 
may be taken for the blood-red sunset clouds. The maiden Iole, 
now evening and not morning, visits him again in death; %nd he 
ascends from his funeral pyre of empurpled mountain peaks to 
heaven. Let all this be granted. So far the solar theory carries 
us. But is this all ? In other words, is this, which the current 
hand-books tell us about Herakles, the pith of the matter as it 
appeared to the Greeks? When we turn to Hegel, who worked 
by another than the solar method,' and was more anxious to dis- 
cover thoughts than etymologies, we read: ' Hercules is among 
the Hellenes, that spiritual humanity which, by native energy, 
attains Olympus through the twelve far-famed labors; but the 
foreign idea that lies at the basis is the sun completing its revo- 
lution through the twelve signs of the zodiac' Here we touch 
the truth. The solar foundation of the myths is wholly value- 
less and unimportant — in other words, is alien to its essence 
when compared with the moral import it acquired among the 
Greeks. It is the conception of life-long service to duty, of 
strength combined with patience, of glory followed by manhood 
through arduous endeavor — it is this that is really vital in the 
myth of Herakles. By right of this the legend entered the 
sphere of religion and of art. In this spirit the sophist enlarged 
upon it, when he told how Herakles, in his youth, chose virtue 
with toil rather than pleasure, incorporating thus the high 
morality of Hesiod with the mythical element. If myths like 
these are in any sense diseased words about the sun, we must go 
further and call them immortalized words, words which have 
attained eternal significance by dying of the disease that afflicted 
them. The same remarks apply to all the solar and lunar sto- 



DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH 85 

ries — to Achilles, Endymion,* Kophalos, and all the rest. As 
solar myths these tales had died to the Greeks. As poems, 
highly capable of artistic treatment, in sculpture or m verse, 
pregnant with humanity, fit to form the subject of dramatic 
presentation or ethical debate, they retained incalculable value. 
The soul of the nation was in them, and that is their value for 
us. To deny the important part which the sun, like the earth 
or the sea, played in earl}' mythology, would be absurd. To dis- 
pute the illumination which comparative philology has thrown 
not only upon the problem of the myths, but also upon the early 
unity of races, until recently divided in our thought, would be 
still more ridiculous. The point at issue is simply this — that in 
Greek Mythology there is far more than linguistic and solar the- 
ories can explain, and that more is precisely the Greek genius. 
The philologer, from his point of view, is justified in directing 
attention to the verbal husk of myths; but the student of art and 
literature must keep steadily in view the kernel of thought and 
feeling which the myths contain. It is only by so doing that 
the poetry and art which sprang from them can be intelligently 
studied. Thus the modern text-books of mythology are mislead- 
ing in so far as they draw the learner's mind away from subjects 
of historical importance to bare archaeology." 

The last method of accounting for the origin of the 
myth which we shall notice in these pages is the his- 
toric, assuming that all the wonderful stories told about 
gods and heroes had a historical foundation in the past. 
theo^ftfhe 1 ^e my th * s thus rationalized; it becomes 
mythL of the outgrowth of an actual fact, the biogra- 

phy of a real person, which through exaggeration or the 
tendency of the human mind to idealize heroic deeds, 
has lost its positive truth. There is a large class of his- 
toric myths growing around us connected with our 
national history; the Grant myths, the Lincoln, the 

*Endymion, a youth beloved of Selene (the moon) . Probably a 
name for the sun, as he plunges into the sea at the rising of the 
moon. 



86 the world's literature 

Washington, the John Smith, and Ethan Allen stories, 
a few centuries from now will doubtless form a body of 
American myths as fondly cherished as is the William 
Tell myth by the Swiss people or the Siegfried myth 
by the Germans. 

Lo^ll's belief in the truth of the historical theory is 
gracefully acknowledged in his poem, The Growth of 
the Legend, and there is also a suggestion of his belief 
in Ruskin's theory in the same poem: 

' ' It grew and grew, 
From the pine trees gathering a sombre hue 
Till it seemes a mere mui;mur out of the vast 
Norwegian forests of the past. 

It sucked the whole strength of the earth and the sky, 
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, all brought it supply; 
'Twas a natural growth and stood fearlessly 

The myth has _ 

a physical there, 

True part of the landscape as sea, land and air. 

Yes, the pine is the mother of legends. 

The legends go with them, even yet on the sea 

A wild virtue is left in the touch of the tree, 

And the sailor's night-watches are thrilled to the core 

With the lineal offspring of Odin and Thor." 

In his poem, The Shepherd of King Admetus, 
Lowell has accounted for the growth of the Apollo myth 
on the historical plan. 

THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS. 

(Permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co.) 

There came a youth upon the earth 

Some thousand years ago, 
Whose slender hands were nothing worth, 

Whether to plow, or reap, or sow. 






DIFFERENT THEORIES OF THE MYTH 87 

Upon an empty tortoise-shell 

He stretched some chords, and drew 
Music that made men's bosoms swell 

Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew. 

Then King Admetus, one who had 

Pure taste by right divine, 
Decreed his singing not too bad 

To hear between the cups of wine. 

And so, well pleased with being soothed 

Into a sweet half-sleep, 
Three times his kingly beard he smoothed, 

And made him viceroy o'er his sheep. 

His words were simple words enough, 

And yet he used them so, 
That what in other mouths was rough 

In his seemed musical and low. 

Men called him but a shiftless youth, 

In whom no good they saw; 
And yet, unwittingly, in truth, 

They made his careless words his law. 

They knew not how he learned at all, 

For idly, hour by hour, 
He sat and watched the dead leaves fall, 

Or mused upon a common flower. 

It seemed the loveliness of things 

Did teach him all their use, 
For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs, 

He found a healing power profuse. 

Men granted that his speech was wise, 

But, when a glance they caught 
Of his slim grace and woman's eyes, 

They laughed, and called him good for naught. 

Yet after he was dead and gone, 
And e'en his memory dim, 



'88 1 THE _WORLl/s LITERATURE 

■- — i * — — — — — . 

Earth seemed more sweet to live upon, 
More full of love because of him. 

And day by day more holy grew 

Each spot where he had trod, 
Till after-poets only knew 

Their first-born brother as a god. 

Perhaps no one has treated the historical theory of 
the myth with so much -enthusiasm as Thomas Carlyle, 
or embraced it with such persistent faith; hence a careful 
study of his wonderful essay, The Hero as Divinity, 
will doubtless be the best gateway to a comprehension of 
this theory. What Ruskin has done for the nature theory 
and the allegorical, what he has done for Athena and 
for the Greeks in his Athena, Queen of the Air, already 
so freely quoted from, that has Carlyle done for the his- 
torical theory, for the Germans and for the Norse mythol- 
ogy in The Hero as Divinity. Here again we have one 
of the greatest men of our own age to study through 
his own words while we make a further study of the 
myth-making age. 

In Ruskin's Athena we were trying to interpret the 
myth as it was believed by the Greeks many centuries 
before Christ. In Odin* we study the myth as it is be- 
lieved by the Germans many centuries after Christ. 
The differences between Ruskin as a scholar and Car- 
lyle as a scholar, between Ruskin as a character and 
Carlyle as a character, are, the student will doubtless 
discover, exactly the differences between Athena as a 
myth and Odin as a myth. Each writer has chosen the 
subject most characteristic of himself as man, as writer, 
as student. 

*Odin, a Norse deity, answering to the Greek Zeus or Jupiter. 



carlyle's theory of the myth 89 



CHAPTER IV. 

Carlyle's Theory of the Myth. 

THE HERO AS DIVINITY. 
We have undertaken to discourse here for a little on great 
men, their manner of appearance in our world's business, how 
they have shaped themselves in the world's history, what ideas 
men formed of them, what work they did; — on heroes, namely, 
and on their reception and performance; what I call hero-worship 
and the heroic in human affairs. Too evidently this is a large 
topic, deserving quite another treatment than we can expect to 
give it at present. A large topic; indeed, an illimitable one; 
wide as universal history itself. For, as I take it, universal his- 
tory, the history of what man has accomplished in 
the myth 1 !?- this world, is at bottom the history of the great 
Thomas Car- men who have worked here. They were the leaders 

the Historical of men, these great ones; the modelers, the pat- 
theory. ° 

terns, and in a wide sense creators, of whatsoever 

the general mass of men contrived to do or to attain; all things 

that we see standing accomplished in the world are properly the 

outer material result, the practical realization and embodiment, 

of thoughts that dwelt in the great men sent into the world; the 

soul of the whole world's history, it may justly be considered, 

were the history of these. Too clearly it is a topic we shall do 

no justice to in this place! 

One comfort is, that great men, taken up in any way, are 

profitable company. We cannot look, however imperfectly, 

upon a great man, without gaining something by him. He is 

the living light-fountain, which it is good and pleasant to be 

near. The light which enlightens, which has enlightened the 

darkness of the world; and this not as a kindled lamp only, but 

rather as a natural luminary shining b} T the gift of heaven; a 

flowing light-fountain, as I say, of native original insight, of 



00 the world's literature 

manhood and heroic nobleness; in whose radiance all souls feel 
that it is well with them. On any "terms whatsoever, you will not 
grudge to wander in such neighborhood for a while. These 
heroes, chosen out of widely-distant countries and epochs, and in 
mere external figure differing altogether, ought, if we look faith- , 
fully at them, to illustrate several things for us. Could we see 
them well, we should get some glimpses into the very marrow of 
the world's history. How happy, could I but, in any measure, 
in such times as these, make manifest to you the meanings of 
heroism; the divine relation (for I may well call it such), which 
in all times unites a great man to other men; and thus, as it 
were, not exhaust my subject, but so much as break ground on 
it! At all events, I must make the attempt. 

It is well said, in every sense, that a man's religion is the 
chief fact with regard to him. A man's, or a nation of men's. 
By religion I do not mean here the church-creed which he pro- 
fesses, the articles of faith which he will sign, and, in words or 
otherwise, assert; not this wholly, in many cases not this at all. 
We see men of all kinds of professed creeds attain to almost all 
degrees of worth or worthlessness under each or any of them. 
This is not what I call religion, this profession and assertion: 
which is often only a profession and assertion from the outworks 
of the man, from the mere argumentative region of him if even 
so deep as that. But the thing a man does practically believe 
(and this is often enough without asserting it even to himself, 
cariyie's de- much less to others); the thing a man does practi- 
trSths°in myth- ca Uy ^Y to heart, and know for certain, concerning 
oiogy. his vital relations to this mysterious universe, and 

his duty and destiny there, that is in all cases the primary 
thing for him, and creatively determines all the rest. That is 
his religion, or, it may be, his mere skepticism and no religion; the 
manner it is in which he feels himself to be spiritually related to 
the unseen world or no world; and I say, if you tell me what 
that is, you tell me to a very great extent what the man is, what 
the kind of things he will do is. Of a man or of a nation we in- 
quire, therefore, first of all, what religion they had. Was it 
heathenism — plurality of gods, mere sensuous representation of 
this mystery of life, and for chief recognized element therein 



CARLYLES THEORY DP THE MVT1I 91 

physical force? Was it Christianism; faith in an invisible, not 
as real only, but as the only reality; time, through every mean- 
est moment of it, resting on eternity; pagan empire of force dis- 
placed by a nobler supremacy, that of holiness? Was it skepti- 
cism, uncertainty, and inquiry whether there was an unseen 
world, any mystery of life except a mad one, — doubt as to all 
this, or perhaps unbelief and flat denial? Answering of this 
question is giving us the soul of the history of the man or na- 
tion. The thoughts they had were the parents of the actions 
they did; their feelings were parents of their thoughts; it was the 
unseen and spiritual in them that determined the outward and 
the actual; — their religion, as I say, was the great fact about 
them. In these discourses, limited as we are, it will be good to 
direct our survey chiefly to that religious phasis of the matter. 
That once known well, all is known. We have chosen as the 
first hero in our series Odin, the central figure of Scandinavian 
paganism; an emblem to us of a most extensive province of 
things. Let us look for a little at the hero as divinity, the oldest 
primary form of heroism. 

Surely it seems a very strange-looking thing this paganism; 
almost inconceivable to us in these days. A bewildering, inex- 
tricable jungle of delusions, confusions, falsehoods and absurdi- 
ties covering the whole field of life! A thing that fills us with 
astonishment, almost, if it were possible, with incredulity, — for 
truly it is not easy to understand that sane men could ever 
calmly, with their eyes open, believe and live by such a set of 
doctrines, That men should have worshipped their poor fellow- 
man as a God, and not him only, but stocks and stones, and all 
manner of animate and inanimate objects, and fashioned for 
themselves such a distracted chaos of hallucinations by way of 
theory of the universe; all this looks like an incredible fable. 
Nevertheless it is a clear fact that they did it. Such hideous in- 
extricable jungle of misworships, misbeliefs, men, made as we 
are, did actually hold by, and live at home in. This is strange. 
Yes, we may pause in sorrow and silence over the depths of 
darkness that are in man: if we rejoice in the height of purer 
vision he has attained to. Such things were and are in man; in 
all men; in us. too. 



92 

Some speculators have a short way of accounting for the 
•Pagan religion; mere quackery, priestcraft, and dupery, say 
Cariyiedisa- tliey; no sane man ever did believe it, — merely con- 
IfielVri^ai 1116 trived to persuade other men, not worthy of the 
theory. name of sane, to believe it! It will be often our 

duty to protest against this sort of hypothesis about men's 
doings and history; and I here on the very threshold, protest 
against it in reference to Paganism, and to all other isms by 
which man has ever for a length of time striven to walk in this 
world. The t y have all had a truth in them, or men would not 
have taken them up. Quackery and dupery do abound; in 
religions, above all in the more advanced decaying stages of 
religions, they have fearfully abounded; but quackery was 
never the originating influence in such things, but their disease, 
the sure precursor of their being about to die! Let us never for- 
get this. It seems to me a most mournful hypothesis, that of 
quackery giving birth to any faith even in savage men. Quack- 
ery gives birth to nothing; gives death to all things. We shall 
not see into the true heart of anything, if we look merely at the 
quackeries of it; if we do not reject the quackeries altogether; 
as mere diseases, corruptions, with which our and all men's sole 
duty is to have done with them, to sweep them out of our 
thoughts as out of our practice. Man everywhere is the born 
enemy of lies. I find Grand Lamaism itself to have a kind of 
truth in it. Read the candid clear-sighted, rather skeptical Mr. 
Turner's 'Account of his Embassy ' to that country, and see. 
They have their belief, these poor Thibet people, that Provi- 
dence sends down always an incarnation of himself into every 
generation. At bottom some belief in a kind of Pope! At bot- 
tom still better, belief that there is a greatest man; that he is 
discoverable; that, once discovered, we ought to treat him with 
an obedience which knows no bounds! This is the truth of 
Grand Lamaism: 'discoverability' is the only error here. The 
Thibet priests have methods of their own of discovering what 
man is greatest, fit to be supreme over them. Bad methods: 
but are they so much worse than our methods, — of understand- 
ing him to be always the eldest-born of a certain genealogy? 
Alas, it is a difficult thing to find good methods for! — "We shall 



CARLYLE S THEORY OF THE MYTH 93 

begin to have a chance of understanding Paganism, when we 
first admit that to its followers it was, at one time, earnestly 
true. Let us consider it very certain that men did believe in 
Paganism; men with open eyes, sound senses, men made alto- 
gether like ourselves; that we, had we been there, should have 
believed in it. Ask noAV, what Paganism could have been? 

Another theory, somewhat more respectable, attributes such 
things to allegory. It was a play of poetic minds, say these 
cariyiedisa- theorists; a shadowing forth, in allegorical fable, in 
svmon^and personification and visual form, of what such poetic 
Ruskin. minds had known and felt of this universe. "Which 

agrees, add the}', with a primary law of human nature; still 
everywhere observably at work, though in less important things, 
that what a man feels intensely, he struggles to speak-out of 
him, to see represented before him in visual shape, and as if with 
a kind of life and historical reality in it. Now doubtless there 
is such a law, and it is one of the deepest in human nature; 
neither need we doubt that it did operate fundamentally in this 
business. The hypothesis which ascribes Paganism wholly or 
mostly to this agency, I call a little more respectable, but I 
can not yet call it the true hypothesis. Think, would we 
believe, and take with us as our life-guidance, an allegory, 
a poetic sport? Not sport but earnest is what we should re- 
quire. It is a most earnest thing to be alive in this world; to 
die is not sport for a man. Man's life never was a sport to him; 
it was a stern reality, altogether a serious matter to be alive! 

I find, therefore, that though these allegory theorists are on 
the way towards truth in this matter, they have not reached 
it either. Pagan religion is indeed an allegory, a symbol of what 
men felt and knew about the universe; and all religions are sym- 
bols of that, altering always as that alters; but it seems to me a 
radical perversion, and even mversion, of the business, to put 
that forward as the origin and moving cause, when it was rather 
the result and termination. To get beautiful allegories, a per- 
fect poetic symbol, was not the want of men; but to know what 
they were to believe about this universe, what course they were 
to steer in it; what, in this mysterious life of theirs, the} r had to 
hope and to fear, to do and to forbear doing. The 'Pilgrim's 



94 the world's literature 

Progress' is an allegory, and a beautiful, just, and serious one 
but consider whether Bunyan's allegory could have preceded the 
faith it symbolizes! The faith had to be already there, standing 
believed by everybody; — of which the allegory could then become 
a shadow; and, with all its seriousness, we may say a sportful 
shadow, a mere play of the fancy, in comparison with that 
awful fact and scientific certainty which it poetically strives to 
emblem. The allegory is the product of the certainty, not the 
producer of it; not in Bunyan's nor in any other case. For 
Paganism, therefore, we have still to inquire* whence came that 
scientific certainty, the parent of such a bewildered heap of alle- 
gories, errors, and confusions? How was it, what was it? 

Surely it were a foolish attempt to pretend 'explaining,' in 
this place, or in any place, such a phenomenon as that far-distant 
distracted cloudy imbroglio of Paganism, — more like a cloudfield 
than a distant continent of firm land and facts! It is no longer 
a reality, yet it was one. We ought to understand that this 
seeming cloudfield was once a reality; that not poetic allegory, 
least of all that dupery and deception was the origin of it. Men 
I say, never did believe idle songs, never risked their soul's life 
on allegories; men in all times, especially in early earnest times, 
have had an instinct for detecting quacks, for detesting quacks. 
Let us try if, leaving out both the quack theory and the allegory 
one, and listening with affectionate attention to that far-off con- 
fused rumor of the Pagan ages, we cannot ascertain so much as 
this at least, that there was a kind of fact at the heart of them: 
that they too were not mendacious and distracted, but in their 
own poor way true and sane ! 

You remember the fancy of Plato's, of a man who had grown 
to maturity in some dark distance, and was brought on a sudden 
into the upper air to see the sunrise. What would his wonder be, 
his rapt astonishment at the sight we daily witness with indiffer- 
ence! With the free open sense of a child, yet with the ripe 
oariyie ac- faculty of a man, his whole heart would be kindled 
mmio?th| the b .Y thatrsight, he would discern it well to be godlike, 
nature theory. jj| g sou j wou i c i f a n down in worship before it. Now, 
just such a childlike greatness was in the primitive nations. 
The first pagan thinker among rude men, the first man that began 



carlvle's theory of the myth 95 

to think, was precisely this child-man of Plato's. Simple, open 
as a child, yet with the depth and strength of a man. Nature 
had as yet no name to him; he had not yet united under a name 
the infinite variety of sights, sounds, shapes and motions, which 
we now collectively name universe, nature, or the like, — and so 
with a name dismiss it from us. To the wild, deep-hearted man all 
was yet new, not veiled under names or formulas; it stood naked, 
flashing in on him there, beautiful, awful, unspeakable. Nature 
was to this man, what to the thinker and prophet it forever is 
prefer-natural. This green, flowery, rock-built earth, the trees, 
the mountains, rivers, many-sounding seas; — that great deep sea 
of azure that swims overhead; the wind sweeping through it; the 
black cloud fashioning itself together, now pouring out fire, now 
hail and rain; what is it? Ay, what? At bottom we do not yet 
know; we can never know it all. It is not by our superior insight 
that we escape the difficulty; it is by our superior levity, our in- 
attention, our want of insight. It is by not thinking that we 
cease to wonder at it. Hardened round us, encasing wholly every 
notion we form, is a wrappage of traditions, hearsays; mere 
icords. We call that fire of the black thunder cloud 'electricity,' 
and lecture learnedly about it, and grind the like of it out of glass 
and silk; but what is it? Whence comes it? Whither goes it? 
Science has done much for us; but it is a poor science that would 
hide from us the great deep sacred infinitude of Nescience, 
Avhither we can never penetrate, on which all science swims as 
a mere superficial film. This world after all our science and 
sciences, is still a miracle; wonderful, inscrutable, magical and 
more, to whosoever will think of it. 

That great mystery of Time, were there no other, the illimit- 
able, silent, never-resting thing called time, rolling, rushing on, 
swift, silent, like an all-embracing ocean-tide, on which we and 
all the universe swim like exhalations, like apparitions which are. 
and then are not, this is forever very literally a miracle; a thing 
to strike us dumb, — for we have no word to speak about it. This 
universe, ah me — what could the wild man know of it; what can 
we yet know? That it is a force, and thousandfold complexity 
of forces; a force which is not ice. That is all; it is not we. it is 
altogether different from as, Force, force, everywhere force; we 



96 the world's literature 

ourselves a mysterious force in the centre of that. ' There is not 
a leaf rotting in the highway but has force in it; how else could 
Mythology not it rot ? ' Nay, surely, to the atheistic thinker, if such 

atheism. The „ _ , A t _ . 

insufficiency of a one were possible, it must be a miracle, too, this 
science to ex- huge illimitable whirlwind of force, which envelops 

plain the uni- K 

verse. us here; never-resting whirlwind, high as immensity, 

old as eternity. What is it? God's creation, the religious people 
answer; it is the Almighty God's! Atheistic science babbles poorly 
of it, with scientific nomenclatures, experiments and what not, as 
if it were a poor dead thing, to be bottled up in Leyden jars and 
sold over counters; but the natural sense of man, in all times, if 
he will honestly apply his sense, proclaims it to be a living thing, 
— ah, an unspeakable, godlike thing; toward which the best atti- 
tude for us, after never so much science, is awe, devout prostra- 
tion and humility of soul; worship if not in words, then in silence. ^ 

But now I remark farther: What in such a time as ours it re- 
quires a prophet or poet to teach us, namely, the stripping off of 
those poor undevout wrappages, nomenclatures and scientific 
hearsays, — this, the ancient earnest soul, as yet unencumbered 
with these things, did for itself. The world, which is now divine 
only to the gifted, was then divine to whosoever would turn his 
eye upon it. He stood bare befpre it face to face. 'All was God- 
like or God: ? — Jean Paul still finds it so; the giant, Jean Paul, 
who has power to escape out of hearsays: but there then were no 
hearsays. Canopus shining down over the desert, with its blue 
diamond brightness (that wild blue spirit-like brightness, far 
brighter than we ever witness here) would pierce into the heart of 
the wild Ishmaelitish man, whom it was guiding through the 
solitary waste there. To his wild heart, with all feelings in it, 
with no speech for any feeling, it may seem a little eye, that 
Canopus, glancing out on him from the great deep eternity; re- 
vealing the inner splendor to him. Cannot we understand how 
these men icorshipped Canopus; became what we call Sabeans, 
worshipping the stars? Such is to me the secret of all forms 
of paganism. Worship is transcendent wonder; wonder for which 
there is now no limit or measure; that is worship. To these 
primeval men, all things and everything they saw exist beside 
them were an emblem of the Godlike, of some God. 



carlyle's theory of the myth 97 

And look what perennial fibre of truth was in that. To us 
also, through every star, through every blade of grass, is not a 
God made visible, if we will open our minds and eyes? We do 
not worship in that way now; but is it not reckoned still a merit, 
proof of what we call a "poetic nature," that we recognize how 
every object has a divine beauty in it; how every object still 
verily is ' a window through which we may look into infini- 
tude itself? ' He that can discern the loveliness of things we call 
him poet, painter, man of genius, gifted, lovable. These poor 
Sabeans did even what he does — in their own fashion. That 
they did it, in what fashion soever, was a merit; better than what 
the entirely stupid man did, what the horse and camel did — 
namely, nothing! 

But now if all things whatsoever that we look upon are em- 
blems to us of the highest God, I add that more so than any of 
them is man such an emblem. You have heard of St. Chrysos- 
tom's celebrated saying in reference to the Shekinah, or ark of 
Reverence for testimony, visible revelation with God, among the 
Sunlition of Hebrews: ■ The true Shekinah is man! ' Yes, it is 
the myth. eyen g0 . ^g j s n0 va | n phrase, it is veritably so. 

The essence of our being, the mystery in us that calls itself ' I, ' 
— ah, w r hat words have we for such things? — is a breath of 
heaven; the highest being reveals himself in man. This body, 
these faculties, this life of ours, is it not all as a vesture for that 
unnamed? 'There is but one temple in the universe,' says the 
devout Novalis, ( and that is the body of man. Xothing is 
holier than that high form. Bending before men is a reverence 
done to this revelation in the flesh. We touch heaven when we 
lay our hand on a human body ! ' This sounds much like a mere 
flourish of rhetoric — but it is not so. If well meditated, it will 
turn out to be a scientific fact; the expression, in such words as 
can be had, of the actual truth of the thing. We are the mir- 
acle of miracles — the great inscrutable mystery of God. We can- 
not understand it, we know not how to speak of it, but we may 
feel and know, if we like, that it is verily so. 

Well, these truths were once more readily felt than now. 
The young generations of the world, who had in them the fresh- 
ness of young children, and yet the depth of earnest men, who 



98 the world's literature 

did not think that they had finish ed-off all things in heaven and 
earth by merely giving them scientific names, but had to gaze 
direct at them there, with awe and wonder; they felt better what 
of divinity is in man and nature; — they, without being mad, 
could worship nature, and man more than anything else in na- 
ture. Worship, that is, as I said above, admire without limit; 
this, in the full use of their faculties, with all sincerity of heart, 
they could do. I consider hero-worship to be the grand modify- 
ing element in that ancient system of thought. What I called 
the perplexed jungle of paganism sprang, we may say, out of 
many roots; every admiration, adoration of a star or natural ob- 
ject, was a root or fibre of a root; but hero-worship is the deepest 
root of all; the tap-root, from which in great degree all the rest 
were nourished and grown. 

And now if worship even of a star had some meaning in it. 
how much more might that of a hero! Worship of a hero is 
transcendent admiration of a great man. I say great men are 
still admirable! I say there is, at bottom, nothing else admira- 
ble! No nobler feeling than this of admiration for one higher 
than himself dwells in the breast of man. It is to this hour, and 
at all hours, the vivifying influence in man's life. 

Faith is loyalty to some inspired teacher, some spiritual hero. 
And what therefore is loyalty proper, the life-breath of all soci- 
ety, but an effluence of hero-worship, submissive admiration for 
the truly great? Society is founded on hero-worship. All dig- 
nities of rank, on which human association rests, are what we 
call a Am>archy (government of heroes), — or a hierarchy, for it is 
sacred ' enough withal ! The duke means dux, leader; king is 
kon-ning, kan-ning, man that knows or cans. Society every- 
where is some representation, not ^supportably inaccurate, of a 
graduated worship of heroes; reverence and obedience done to 
men really great and wise. Not ^supportably inaccurate, I say! 
They are all as bank-notes, these social dignitaries, all represent- 
ing gold; — and several of them, alas, always are forged notes. 
We can do with some forged false notes; with a good many even; 
but not with all, or the most of them forged! No; there have to 
come revolutions then; cries of democracy, liberty and equality, 
and I know not what; — the notes being all false, and no gold to 



carlyle's theory of the myth 99 

bo had for them, people take to crying in their despair that there 
is no gold, that there never was any! — 'gold,' hero-worship, is 
nevertheless, as it was always and everywhere, and cannot cease 
till man himself ceases. 

I am well aware that in these days hero-worship, the thing I 
call hero-worship, professes to have gone out, and finally ceased. 
This, for reasons which it will be worth while some time to in- 
quire into, is an age that as it were denies the existence of great 
men: denies the desirableness of great men. Show our critics a 
great man. a Luther for example, they begin to what they call 
•account' for him; not to worship him. but take the dimen- 
sions of him, — and bring him out to be a little kind of man! He 
was the 'creature of the time." they say: the time called him 
forth, the time did everything, he nothing — but what we the lit- 
tle critic could have done too! This seems to me but melancholy 
work. The time call forth? Alas, we have known times call 
loudly enough for their great man; but not find him when they 
called. He was not there: Providence had not sent him: the 
time, calling its loudest, had to go down to confusion and wreck 
because he would not come when called. 

For if we will think of it. no time need have gone to ruin. 
could it have found a man great enough, a man wise and good 
enough; wisdom to discern truly what the time wanted, valor to 
lead it on the right road thither; these are the salvation of any 
time. But I liken common languid times, with their unbelief, 
. distress, perplexity, with their languid doubting characters and 
embarrassed circumstances, impotently crumbling down into 
ever worse distress towards final ruin; — all this T liken to dry 
dead fuel waiting for the lightning out of heaven that shall kin- 
dle it. The great man with his free force direct out of God's 
own hand, is the lightning. His word is the wise healing word 
which all can believe in. All blazes round him now, when he 
has once struck on it, into fire like his own. The dry moulder- 
The great man m £ sticks are thought to have called him forth, 
makes ws age. Tn e v did want him greatly; but as to calling him 
forth — ! — Those are critics of small vision, I think, who cry: 
'See, is it not the sticks that made the fire?' No sadder 
proof can be given by a man of his own littleness than disbelief 



100 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

in great men. There is no sadder symptom of a generation than 
such general blindness to the spiritual lightning, with faith only 
in the heap of barren dead fuel. It is the last consummation of 
unbelief. In all epochs of the world's history, we shall find the 
great man to have been the indispensable savior of his epoch; — 
the lightning, without which the fuel never would have burnt. 
The history of the world, I said already, was the biography of 
great men. 

Such small critics do what they can to promote unbelief and 
universal spiritual paralysis; but happily they cannot always 
completely succeed. In all times it is possible for a man to arise 
great enough to feel that they and their doctrines are chimeras 
and cobwebs. And what is notable, in no time whatever can they 
entirely eradicate out of living men's hearts a certain altogether 
peculiar reverence for great men; genuine admiration, loyalty, 
adoration, however dim and perverted it may be. Hero- worship 
endures forever while man endures. Boswell venerates his 
Johnson, right truly even in the eighteenth century. 

Yes, from Norse Odin to English Samuel Johnson, from the 
divine founder of Christianity to the withered pontiff of encyclo- 
pedism, in all times and places, the hero has been worshipped. 
The nobmty of ^ wu *l ever ^ e so - We a ^ l° ve great men; love, 
hero worship, venerate and bow down submissive before great men; 
nay, can we honestly bow down to anything else ? Ah, does not 
every true man feel that he is himself made higher by doing rev- 
erence to what is really above him ? No nobler or more blessed 
feeling dwells in man's heart. And to me it is very cheering to 
consider that no skeptical logic, or general triviality, insincerity 
and acridity of any time and its influences can destroy this noble 
inborn loyalty and worship that is in man. 

So much of truth, only under an ancient obsolete vesture, but 
the spirit of it still true, do I find in the paganism of old nations. 
Nature is still divine, the revelation of the workings of God; 
the hero is still worshipable; this, under poor cramped in- 
cipient forms, is what all pagan religions have struggled, as they 
could to set forth. I think Scandinavian paganism, to us here, 
is more interesting than any other. It is, for one thing, the latest; 
it continued in these regions of Europe till the eleventh century; 



( arlylk's theory of the myth 101 

eight hundred years ago the Norwegians were still worshippers 
of Odin. It is interesting also as the creed of our fathers; the 
men whose blood still runs in our veins, whom doubtless we still 
resemble in so many ways. Strange: they did believe that, while 
we believe so differently. Let us look a little at this poor Norse 
creed, for many reasons. We have tolerable means to do it; for 
there is another point of interest in these Scandinavian mytholo- 
gies: that they have been preserved so well. 

In that strange island, Iceland, — burst up, the geologists say 

by fire from the bottom of the sea; a wild land of barrenness and 

lava: swallowed many months of every year in black tempests, 

yet with a wild gleaming beauty in summer time; towering up 

there, stern and grim, in the north ocean; with its 

The preserva- . 

tionofthe snow iockuls, roaring gevsers. sulphur-pools and 

Nurse myth. J ° ° J x * 

horrid volcanic chasms, like the waste chaotic battle- 
field of frost and fire; — where of all places we least looked for 
literature or written memorials, the record of these things was 
written down. On the seaboard of this wild land is a rim of 
grassy country, where cattle can subsist, and men by means of 
them and of what the sea yields: and it seems they were poetic 
men these, men who had deep thoughts in them, and uttered 
musically their thoughts. Much would be lost had Iceland not 
been burst-up from the sea, not been discovered by the North- 
men! The old Norse poets were many of them natives of Iceland. 
Saemund. one of the early Christian priests there, who per- 
haps had a lingering fondness for paganism, collected certain of 
their old pagan songs, just about becoming obsolete then, — poems 
or chants of a mythic, prophetic, mostly all of a religious charac- 
ter: that is what Norse critics call the elder or poetic edda. 
Edda, a word of uncertain etymology, is thought to signify an- 
cestress. Snorro Sturleson, an Iceland gentleman, an extremely 
notable personage, educated b} r this Ssemund's grandson, took in 
hand next, near a century afterwards, to put together, among 
several other books he wrote, a kind of prose synopsis of the 
whole mythology; elucidated by new fragments of traditionary 
verse. A work constructed really with great ingenuity, native 
talent, what one might call unconscious art; altogether a per- 
spicuous clear work, pleasant reading still; this is the younger. 



102 

or prose edda. By these and the numerous other sagas, mostly 
Icelandic, with the commentaries, Icelandic or not, which go on 
zealously in the north to this day, it is possible to gain some direct 
insight even yet; and see that old Xorse system of belief, as it 
were, face to face. Let us forget that it is erroneous religion; 
let us look at it as old thought, and try if we cannot sympathize 
with it somewhat. 

The primary characteristic of this old northland mythology I 
find to be impersonation of the visible workings of nature. 
Earnest simple recognition of the workings of physical nature, 
as a thing wholly miraculous, stupendous and divine. What we 
now lecture of as science, they wondered at, and fell down in 
awe before, as religion. The dark hostile powers of nature they 
figure to themselves as 'Jotuns,' giants, huge shaggy beings of 
a demonic character. Frost, fire, sea-tempest; these are Jotuns. 
The friendly powers again, as summer heat, the sun, are gods. 
The empire of this universe is divided between these two; they 
dwell apart, in perennial internecine feud. The gods dwell above 
in Asgard. the garden of the Asen. or Divinities: Jotunheim, a 
distant dark chaotic land, is the home of the Jotuns. 

Curious all this; and not idle or inane, if we will look at the 
foundation of it! The power of fire, or flame, for instance, 
The natural which we designate by some trivial chemical name, 
the basdsofthe thereby hiding from ourselves the essential charae- 
myth ' ter of wonder that dwells in it as in all things, is with 

these old northmen, Loke, a most swift, subtle demon, of the brood 
of the Jotuns. The savages of the Ladrones islands too (say some 
Spanish voyagers) thought fire, which they never had seen before, 
was a devil or god, that bit you sharply when you touched it, 
and that lived upon dry wood. From us too no chemistry, if it 
had not stupidity to help it, would hide that flame is a wonder. 
AVhat is flame? — Frost, the old Norse seer discerns to be a mon- 
strous hoary Jotun, the giant, Thrym, Hrym; or Rime, the old 
word now nearly obsolete here, but still used in Scotland to sig- 
nify hoar-frost. Rime was not then as now a dead chemical 
thing, but a living Jotun or devil; the monstrous Jotun Rime 
drove home his horses at night, sat 'combing their manes,' — 
which horses were Hail-clouds, or fleet frost winds. His cows — 



( ARLYLE S THEORY OF THE MYTH 103 

no, not his, but a kinsman's, the giant Hymir's cows are icebergs: 
this Hymir 'looks at the rocks' with his devil-eye, and they 
split in the glance of it. 

Thunder was not then mere electricity, vitreous or resinous; 
it was the god Donner (Thunder) or Thor, — god also of benefi- 
cent summer-heat. The thunder with his wrath; the gathering 
of the black clouds is the drawing-down of Trior's angry brows: 
the fire-bolt bursting out of heaven is the all-rending hammer 
flung from the hand of Thor: he urges his loud chariot over the 
mountain tops, — that is the peal; wrathful he 'blows in his red 
beard,' — that is the rustling stormblast before the thunder 
begin. Balder again, the white god, the beautiful, the just and 
benignant (whom the early Christian missionaries found to re- 
semble Christ), is the sun, — beautifullest of visible things; won- 
drous too, and divine still, after all our astronomies and alma- 
nacs! But perhaps the notablest god we hear tell of is one of 
whom Grimm the German etymologist finds trace : the god 
Wiinsch, or wish. The god Wish, who could give us all that we 
wished! Is not this the sincerest and yet rudest voice of the spirit 
of man ? The rudest ideal that man ever formed : which still shows 
itself in the latest forms of our spiritual culture. Higher con- 
siderations have to teach us that the god Wish is not the true 
God. 

Of the other gods or Jotuns I will mention only for etymol- 
ogy's sake, that sea-tempest is the Jo tun Aegir, a very dangerous 
Jotun; — and now to this day, on our river Trent, as T learn, the 
Nottingham bargemen, when the river is in a certain flooded 
The Norse state (a kind of backwater or eddying swirl it has, 
t?6n to English" very dangerous to them), call it Eager; they cry 
thought. Qu ^ 'Have a care, there is the Eager coming!' 

Curious, that word surviving, like the peak of a submerged 
world! The oldest Nottingham bargemen had believed in the 
god Aegir. Indeed, our English blood, too, in good part, is 
Danish, Norse; or rather, at bottom, Danish and Norse and 
Saxon have no distinction, except a superficial one — as of 
Heathen and Christian, or the like. But all over our island we 
are mingled largely with Danes proper, — from the incessant in- 
vasions there were; and this, of course, in a greater proportion 



104 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

along the east coast, and greatest of all, as I find, in the north 
country. From the Humber upwards, all over Scotland, the 
speech of the common people is still in a singular degree Ice- 
landic; its Germanism has still a peculiar Norse tinge. They 
too are 'Normans,' Northmen — if that be an} T great beauty! 

Of the chief god, Odin, we shall speak by and by. Mark at 
present so much; what the essence of Scandinavian and indeed 
of all paganism is: a recognition of the forces of nature as god- 
cariyieac- ^ e ' stu P en d° us > personal agencies, — as gods and 
^hat w them|th demons. Not inconceivable to us. It is the infant 
basis. physical thought of man opening itself, with awe and won- 
der, on this ever-stupendous universe. To me there 
is in the Norse system something very genuine, very great and 
manlike. A broad simplicity, rusticity, so very different from 
the light gracefulness of the old Greek paganism, distinguishes 
this Scandinavian system. It is thought; the genuine thought of 
deep, rude, earnest minds, fairly open to the things about them: 
a face-to-face and heart-to-heart inspection of the things, — the 
first characteristic of all good thought in all times. Not grace- 
ful lightness, half-sport, as in the Greek paganism; a certain 
homely truthfulness and rustic strength, a great rude sincerity. 
discloses itself here. It is strange, after our beautiful Apollo 
statues and clear smiling mythuses, to come down upon the 
Norse gods ' brewing ale ' to hold their feast with Aegir, the 
Sea-Jotun; sending out Thor to get the caldron for them in the 
Jotun country; Thor, after many adventures, clapping the pot on 
his head, like a huge hat, and walking off with it — quite lost in 
it, the ears of the pot reaching down to his heels. A kind of 
vacant hugeness, large awkward gianthood, characterizes that 
Norse system; enormous force, as yet altogether untutored, 
stalking helpless with large uncertain strides. Consider only 
their primary mythus of the creation. The gods, having got the 
giant Ymer slain, a giant made by "warm wind," and much con- 
fused work, out of the conflict of frost and fire, — 

Hugeness of . . . - . TX . 

the northern determined on constructing a world with him. His 

blood made the sea: his flesh was the land, the rocks 

his bones; of his eyebrows they formed Asgard, their god's 

dwelling; his skull was the great blue vault of immensity, and 



OF THE MYTH 105 



the brains of it became the clouds. What a hyper-brobdignagian 
business! Untamed thought, great, giantlike, enormous, — to be 
tamed in due time into the compact greatness, not giantlike, but 
godlike and stronger than gianthood, of the Shakespeares, the 
Goethes! — spiritually as well as bodily these men are our progen- 
itors. 

I like, too, that representation they have of the tree Igdrasil. 
All life is figured by them as a tree. Igdrasil, the ash-tree of ex- 
istence, has its roots deep-down in the kingdoms of Hela or 
death; its trunk reaches up heaven-high, spreads its boughs over 
the whole universe; it is the tree of existence. At the foot of it 
in the death-kingdom, sit three nomas, fates — the past, present, 
future; watering its roots from the sacred well. Its 'boughs,' 
with their buddings and disleafings, — events, things suffered, 
things done, catastrophies, — stretch through all lands and times. 
Is not every leaf of it a biography, every fibre there an act or 
word ? Its boughs are histories of nations. 

Well, it is strange enough this old Norse view of nature; dif- 
ferent enough from what we believe of nature. Whence it spe- 
cially came one would not like to be compelled to say very 
minutely! One thing we may say: It came from the thoughts 
of Norse men, — from the thought, above all, of the first Norse 
man who had an original power of thinking. The first Norse 
* man of genius ' as we should call him! Innumerable men had 
passed by, across this universe, with a dumb vague wonder, such 
as the very animals may feel; or with a painful, fruitlessly in- 
quiring wonder, such as men only feel; till the great thinker 
came, the original man, the seer, whose shaped spoken thought 
awakes the slumbering capability of all into thought. It is ever 
the way with the thinker, the spiritual hero. What he says all 
men were not far from saying, were longing to say. The 
thoughts of all start up, as from painful enchanted sleep, round 
his thought; answering to it, yes, even so! Joyful to men as the 
dawning of day from night — is it not, indeed, the awakening for 
them from no-being into being, from death into life? We still 
honor such a man; call him poet, genius, and so forth; but to 
these wild men he was a very magician, a worker of miraculous 
unexpected blessing for them; a prophet, a god! — Thought once 



106 THE WORLD S LITERATURE 

awakened does not again slumber, unfolds itself into a system of 
thought; grows, in man after man, generation after generation, 
— till its full stature is reached, and such system of thought can 
grow no farther, but must give place to another. 

For the Norse people, the man now named Odin, and chief 
Norse god, we fancy was such a man. A teacher, and captain 
odin, a great of soul and of body; a hero, of worth immeasurable; 
admiration for whom transcending the known 
bounds, becoming adoration. Has he not the power of articulate 
thinking, and many other powers, as yet miraculous ? So, with 
boundless gratitude, would the rude Norse heart feel. Has he 
not solved for them the sphinx-enigma of this universe; given 
assurance to them of their own destiny there? By him they 
know now what they have to do here, what to look for hereafter. 
Existence has become articulate, melodious by him; he first has 
made life alive! We may call this Odin, the origin of Norse 
mythology. Odin, or whatever name the first Norse thinker 
bore while he was a man among men. His view of the universe 
once promulgated, a like view starts into being in all minds; 
grows, keeps ever growing, while it continues credible there. In 
all minds it lay written, but invisibly, as in sympathetic ink; at 
his word it starts into visibility in all. Nay, in every epoch of 
the world, the great event, parent of all others, is it not the 
arrival of a thinker in the world ? 

One other thing we must not forget; it will explain, a little, 
the confusion of these Norse eddas. They are not one coherent 
system of thought, but property the summation of several succes- 
sive systems. All this of the old Norse belief which is flung out 
for us, in one level of distance in the edda, like a picture painted 
on the same canvas, does not at all stand so in the reality. It 
stands rather at all manner of distances and depths, of suc- 
cessive generations, since the belief first began. All Scandina- 
vian thinkers, since the first of them, contributed to that Scan- 
dinavian system of thought; in ever-new elaboration and addi- 
tion it is the combined work of them all. What history it had, 
how it changed from shape to shape, by one thinker's contribu- 
tion after another, till it got to the full final shape we see it 
under the Edda, no man will now ever know. Only that it had 



carlylk's theory of Tin: myth 10V 

such a history we can all know. Wheresoever a thinker ap- 
peared, there in the thing he thought of was a contribution, 
accession, a change or revolution made. Alas, the grandest 
'revolution' of all, the one made by the man Odin himself, is 
not this too sunk for us, like the rest? Of Odin what history? 
Strange rather to reflect that he had a history! That this Odin, 
in his wild Norse vesture, with his wild beard and eyes, his rude 
Norse speech and ways, was a man like us; with our sorrows, 
joys, with our limbs, features, — intrinsically all one as we; and 
did such a work! But the work, much of it has perished; the 
worker, all to the name. 'Wednesday,' men will say to-morrow; 
Odin's day ! Of Odin there exists no history, no document of it, 
no guess about it worth repeating. 

Snorro, indeed, in the quietest manner, almost in a brief busi- 
ness style, writes down in his Heimskringla, how Odin was a 
heroic prince in the Black sea region, with twelve peers, and a 
great people straitened for room. How he led these Asen (Asia- 
tics) of his out of Asia; settled them in the north part of Europe, 
by warlike conquest; invented letters, poetry and so forth, — and 
came by and by to be worshipped as chief god by these Scandi- 
odin's date. navians, his twelve peers made into twelve sons of 
his own, gods like himself; Snorro has no doubt of this. Saxo 
Grammaticus, a very curious north man of that same century, is 
still more unhesitating; scruples not to find out a historical fact 
in every individual mythus, and writes it down as a terrestrial 
event in Denmark or elsewhere. Terfaeus, learned and cautious, 
some centuries later, assigns by calculation a date for it; Odin, 
he says, came into Europe about the year 70 before Christ. Of 
all which, as grounded on mere uncertainties, found to be unten- 
able now, I need say nothing. Far, very far beyond the year 70! 
Odin's date, adventures, whole terrestrial history, figure and en- 
vironment are sunk from us forever into unknown thousands of 
years. 

Nay, Grimm, the German antiquary, goes so far as to deny 
That any man Odin ever existed. He proves it by etymology. 
The word Wuotan, which is the original form of Odin, a word 
spread, as name of their chief divinity, over all the Teutonic 
nations everywhere; this word which connects itself, according 



108 the world's literature 

to Grimm, with the Latin vadere, with the English wade and 
suchlike, — means primarily movement, source of movement, 
power; and is the fit name of the highest god, not of any man. 
The word signifies divinity, he says, among the old Saxon, Ger- 
man and all Teutonic nations; the adjectives formed from it at 
all signify divine, supreme, or something pertaining to the chief 
god. Like enough! We must bow to Grimm in matters etymo- 
logical. Let us consider it fixed that Woutan means wading, 
force of movement. And now still, what hinders it from being 
the name of a heroic man and mover, as well as of a god? As for 
the adjectives, and words formed from it, — did not the Spaniards 
in their universal admiration for Lope, get into the habit of say- 
ing ' a Lope flower, ' ' a Lope dama, ' if the flower or woman 
were of surpassing beauty ? Had this lasted, Lope would have 
grown in Spain, to be an adjective signifying godlike also. In- 
deed, Adam Smith, in his ' Essay on Language, ' surmises that 
all adjectives whatsoever were formed precisely in that way; 
some very green thing, chiefly notable for its greenness, got the 
appellative name green, and then the next thing remarkable for 
that quality, a tree, for instance, was named the green tree, — as 
we still say, ' the steam coach, ' ' four horse coach, ' or the like. 
All primary adjectives, according to Smith, were formed in this 
way; were at first substantives and things. We cannot annihi- 
late a man for etymologies like that! Surely here was a first 
teacher and captain; surely there must have been an Odin, pal- 
pable to the sense at one time; no adjective, but a real hero of 
flesh and blood! The voice of all tradition, history or echo of 
history, agrees with all that thought will teach one about it, to 
assure us of this. 

How the man Odin came to be considered a god, the chief 
god? — that surely is a question which nobody would wish to dog- 
matize upon. I have said his people knew no limits to their admira- 
tion of him; they had as yet no scale to measure admiration by. 
The origin of Fancy your own generous heart's love of some greatest 
the myth odin. man expandino; tm ft transcended all bounds, till it 

filled and overflowed the whole field of your thought! Or what 
if this man Odin, — since a great deep soul, with the afflatus and 
mysterious tide of vision and impulse rushing on him he knows 



CABLYLE S THEORY OF THE MYTH 109 

not whence, is ever an enigma, a kind of terror and wonder to 
himself, — should have felt that perhaps he was divine, that he 
was some effluence of the 'Wuotan,' ' movement, ' supreme 
power and divinity, of whom, to his rapt vision all nature was 
the awful flame-image; that some effluence of Wuotan dwelt here 
in him ! He was not necessarily false; but he was mistaken, speak- " 
ing the truest he knew. A great soul, any sincere soul, knows not 
what he is, — alternates between the highest height and the lowest 
depth; can, of all things, the least measure — himself! What 
others take him for, and what he guesses that he may be; these 
two items strangely act on one another, help to determine one an- 
other. With all men reverently admiring him; with his own 
wild soul full of noble ardors and affections, of whirlwind chaotic 
darkness and glorious new light, a divine universe bursting all 
into godlike beauty round him, and no man to whom the like ever 
had befallen, what could he think himself to be? '"Wuotan?' 
All men answered, 'Wuotan;' — 

And then consider what mere time will do in such cases; how 
if a man was great while living, he becomes ten-fold greater 
when dead. What an enormous earner a-ooscur a magnifier is 
tradition! How a thing grows in the human memory, in the 
human imagination, when love, worship and all that lies in the 
human heart is there to encourage it. And in the darkness, in 
the entire ignorance, without date or document, no book, no 
Arundel-marble; only here and there some dumb monumental 
cairn. Why, in thirty or forty years, were there no books, any 
great man would grow mythic, the contemporaries who had seen 
him being once all dead. And in three hundred years, and in 
three thousand years — ! — To attempt theorizing on such matters 
would profit little; they are matters which refuse to be theoremed 
Any great man ano ^ diagramed; which logic ought to know that she 
Slifted^Sftn- cannot speak of. Enough for us to discern, far in 
the uttermost distance, some gleam, as of a small 
real light shining in the center of that enormous camera-obscura 
image; to discern that the center of it all was not a madness and 
nothing, but a sanity and something. 

This light, kindled in the great dark vortex of the Norse 
mind, dark but living, waiting only for light; this is to me the 



110 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

the center of the whole. How such light will then shine out. 
and with wondrous thousandfold expansion spread itself, in 
forms and colors, depends not on it, so much as on the na- 
tional mind recipient of it. The colors and forms of your 
light will be those of the cut-glass it has to shine through. 
■Curious to think how, for every man, any the truest fact is 
modeled by the nature of the man. I said, the earnest man. 
speaking to his brother-men, must always have stated what 
seemed to him a fact, a real appearance of nature. But the way 
in which such appearance or fact shaped itself, — what sort of 
fact it became for him, — was and is modified by his own laws of 
thinking; deep, subtle, but universal, ever-operating laws. The 
world of nature, for every man, is the phantasy of himself; this 
world is the multiplex 'image of his own dream.' Who knows 
to what unnamable subtleties of spiritual law all these pagan 
fables owe their shape! The number twelve, divisiblest of all, 
which could be halved, quartered, parted into three, into six, the 
most remarkable number, — this was enough to determine the 
signs of the Zodiac, the number of Odin's sons and innumerable 
other twelves. Any vague rumor of number had a tendency to 
settle itself into twelve. So with regard to every other matter. 
Arid quite unconsciously, too, — with no notion of building-up 
* Allegories ' ! But the fresh clear glance of those first ages 
would be prompt in discerning the secret relations of things, and 
wholly open to obey these. Schiller finds in the cestus of Venus 
an everlasting aesthetic truth as the nature of all beauty; curi- 
ous: — but he is careful not to insinuate that the old Greek myth- 
ists had any notion of lecturing about the ' Philosophy of Crit- 
icism ' ! On the whole, we must leave those boundless regions. 

Cannot we conceive that Odin was a reality ? Error indeed, error 
enough, but sheer falsehood, idle fables, allegory aforethought, 
— we will not believe that our fathers believed in these. 

Odin's Runes are a significant feature of him. Runes, and 
the miracles of ' magic ' he worked by them, make a great fea- 
ture in tradition. Runes are the Scandinavian alphabet; sup- 
pose Odin to have been the inventor of letters, as well as ' magic, ' 
among that people! It is the greatest invention man has ever 
made, this of marking down the unseen thought that is in him 



CABLYLE S THEORY OF THE MYTH 111 

by written characters. It is a kind of second speech, almost as 
miraculous as the first. 

Writing by runes has some air of being original among the 
Norsemen; not a Phoenician alphabet, but a native Scandinavian 
one. Snorro tells us farther that Odin invented poetry: the 
music of human speech, as well as that miraculous runic mark- 
ing of it. Transport yourselves into the early childhood of na- 
tions; the first beautiful morning-light of our Europe, when all 
yet lay in fresh young radiance, as of a great sunrise, and our 
Europe was first beginning to think, to be! Wonder, hope, 
infinite radiance of hope and wonder, as of a young child's 
thoughts, in the hearts of these strong men! Strong sons of 
nature; and here was not only a wild captain and fighter, dis- 
cerning with his wild flashing eyes what to do, with his a ild 
lion heart daring and doing it; but a poet too, all that we mean 
by a poet, prophet, great-devout thinker and inventor, — as the 
truly great man ever is. A hero is a hero at all points: in the 
soul and thought of him first of all. This Odin, in his rude, 
The god was seini-articulate way, had a word to speak. A great 

originally a , , . -, . 

hero. earth laid open to take in this great universe, and 

man's life here, and utter a great word about it. A hero, as I 
Say, in his own rude manner; a wise, gifted, noble-hearted man. 
And now, if we still admire such a man beyond all others, what 
must these wild Norse souls, first awakened into thinking, 
have made of him! To them, as yet without names for it, he 
was noble and noblest: hero, prophet, god; Wuotan, the greatest 
of all. Thought is thought, however it speak or spell itself. 
Intrinsically, I conjecture, this Odin must have been of the same 
sort of stuff as the greatest kind of men. A great thought in the 
wild deep heart of him! The rough words he articulated, are 
they not the rudimental roots of those English words we still 
use? He worked so, in that obscure element. But he was as a 
light kindled in it; a light of intellect, rude nobleness of heart, 
the only kind of lights we have yet: a hero, as I say; and he had 
to shine there, and make his obscure element a little lighter — as 
is still the task of us all. 

We will fancy him to be the type Norseman; the finest Teuton 
whom that race had yet produced. The rude Norse heart 



112 THE AVORLD'S LITERATURE 

burst up into boundless admiration round him; into adoration. 
He is as a root of so many great things; the fruit of him is found 
growing, from deep thousands of years, over the whole field of 
Teutonic life. Our own Wednesday, as I said, is it not still 
Odin's day? Wednesbury, Wansborough, Wanstead, Wands- 
worth; Odin grew into England too, these are still leaves from 
that root! He was the chief god to all the Teutonic peoples: 
their pattern Norseman; — in such way did they admire their pat- 
tern Norseman; that was the fortune he had in the world. 

Thus if the man Odin himself have vanished utterly, there is 
this huge shadow of him which still projects itself over the whole 
history of his people. For this Odin once admitted to be God. we 
can understand well that the whole Scandinavian scheme of 
nature, or dim no-scheme, whatever it might before have been, 
would now begin to develop itself altogether differently, and grow 
henceforth in a new manner. What this Odin saw into, and 
taught with his runes and his rhymes, the whole Teutonic people 
laid to heart and carried forward. His way of thought became 
their way of thought: — such, under new conditions, is the history 
of every great thinker still. In gigantic confused lineaments, like 
some enormous camera-obscura shadow thrown upwards from the 
dead deeps of the past, and covering the whole northern Heaven, 
is not that Scandinavian mythology in some sort the portraiture of 
this man Odin ? The gigantic image of Ms natural face, legible 
or not legible there, expanded and confused in that manner! Ah. 
thought, I say, is always thought. No great man lives in vain. 
The history of the world is but the biography of great men. 

To me there is something very touching in this primeval figure 
of heroism; in such artless, helpless, but hearty entire reception 
of a hero by his fellowmen. Never so helpless in shape, it is the 
noblest of feelings, and a feeling in some shape or 
thlNoi^e lty ° f other perennial as a man himself. If I could show 
mythology. ^ n an ^ measure? w ^ a t i feel deeply for a long time 

now, that it is the vital element of manhood, the soul of man's 
history here in our world, — it would be the chief use of this dis- 
coursing at present. We do not now call our great men gods, nor 
admire without limit; ah, no, with limit enough! But if we have 
no great men, or do not admire at all, — that were a still worse case. 



carlyle's theory of the myth 113 

This poor Scandinavian hero-worship, that whole Norse way 
of looking at the universe, and adjusting oneself there, has an in- 
destructible merit for us. A rude, childlike way of recognizing 
the divineness of nature, the divineness of man, most rude, yet 
heartfelt, robust, giantlike; betokening what a giant of a man 
this child would yet grow to! — It was a truth, and is none. Is it 
riot as the half-dumb stifled voice of the long buried generations 
of our own fathers calling out of the depths of ages to us, in 
whose veins their blood still runs: ' This then, this is what we made 
of the world; this is all the image and notion we could form to 
ourselves of this great mystery of a life and universe. Despise it 
not. You are raised high above it, to large free scope of vision; 
but you too are not yet at the top. No, your notion too, so much 
enlarged, is but a partial, imperfect one; that matter is a thing no 
man will ever, in time or out of time, comprehend; after thou- 
sands of years of ever new expansion, man will find himself but 
struggling to comprehend again a part of it; the thing is larger 
than man, not to be comprehended by him; an infinite thkig! ' 

The essence of v the Scandinavian, as indeed of all pagan 
mythologies, we found to be recognition of the divineness of 
nature; sincere communion of man with the mysterious invisible 
powers visibly seen at work in the world round him. This, I 
should say, is more sincerely done in the Scandinavian than in any 
mythology I know. Sincerity is the great character of it. Superior 
sincerity (far superior) consoles us for the total want of old Grecian 

grace. Sincerity, I think, is better than grace. I 
roo e ted y ^n f ee l that these old northmen were looking into nature 

with open eye and soul most earnest, honest; child- 
like, and yet manlike; with a great-hearted symplicity and depth 
and freshness, in a true, loving, admiring, unf earing way. A 

right, valiant, true old race of men. Such recogni- 
of the myth- 7 tion of nature one finds to be the chief element of 

paganism; recognition of man, and his moral duty, 
though this too is not wanting, comes to be the chief element only 
in purer forms of religion. Here, indeed, is a great distinction 
and epoch in human beliefs; a great landmark in the religious 
development of mankind. Man first puts himself in relation with 
nature and her powers, wonders and worships over those; not till 



114 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

a later epoch does he discern that all power is moral, that the 
grand point is the distinction for him of good and evil, of thou 
shalt and thou shalt not. 

Among those shadowy Edda matters, amid all that fantastic 
congeries of assertions, and traditions, in their musical mytholo- 
gies, the main practical belief a man could have was probably 
not much more than this: of the Valkyrs and the Hall of Odin; 
of an inflexible Destiny; and that the one thing needful for a man 
was to be brave. The Valkyrs are choosers of the slain; a destiny 
inexorable, which it is useless trying to bend or soften, has ap- 
pointed who is to be slain; this was a fundamental point for the 
Norse believer; as indeed it is for all earnest men ever}' where, 
for a Mohammed, a Luther, a Napoleon too. It lies at the basis 
this for every such man; it is the woof out of wiiich his whole 
system of thought is woven. The Valkyrs; and then that these 
choosers lead the brave to a heavenly Hall of Odin; only the base 
and slavish being thrust elsewhither, into the realms of Hela the 
death goddess. I take this to have been the soul of the whole 
Norse belief. They understood in their heart that it was indis- 
pensable to be brave; that Odin would have no favor for them, 
but despise and thrust them out, if they were not brave. Con- 
sider too whether there is not something in this ! It is an ever- 
lasting duty, valid in our day as in that; the duty of being brave. 
Valor is still value. The first duty for a man is still that of sub- 
duing fear. We must get rid of fear; we cannot act at all till 
then. A man's acts are slavish, not true but specious; his very 
thoughts are false, he thinks too as a slave and a 

Valor as an 

element in coward, till he has got rear under his feet. Odin s 

mythology. 

creed, if we disentangle the real kernel of it, is true 
to this hour. A man shall and must be valiant; he must march 
forward, and quit himself like a man, — trusting imperturbably in 
the appointment and choice of the upper powers; and, on the 
whole, not fear at all. Now and always the completeness of his 
victory over fear will determine how much of a man he is. 

It is doubtless very savage that kind of valor of the old 
Northmen. Snorro tells us they thought it a shame and misery 
not to die in battle; and if natural death seemed to be coming on, 
they would cut wounds in their flesh, that Odin might receive 



carlyle's theory of the myth 115 

them as warriors slain. Old kings, about to die, had their body 
laid into a ship; the ship sent forth, with sails set and slow fire 
burning it ; that, once out at sea, it might blaze up in flame, 
and in such manner bury worthily the old hero, at once in the 
sky and in the ocean! Wild bloody valor; yet valor of its kind; 
better, I say, than none. In the old sea-kings too. what an in- 
domitable rugged energy! Silent, with closed lips, as I fanc} r 
them, unconscious that they were specially brave; defying tlie 
wild ocean with its monsters, and all men and things; — pro- 
genitors of our own Blakes and Nelsons! Xo Homer sang these 
Norse sea-kings; but Agamemnon's was a small audacity, and of 
small fruit in the world, to some of them; — to Hrolf s of Nor- 
mandy, for instance! Hrolf, or Rollo, Duke of Normandy, the 
wild sea-king, has a share in governing England at this hour. 

Nor was it altogether nothing, even that wild sea-roving and 
battling, through so many generations. It needed to be ascer- 
tained which was the strongest kind of men: who were to be 
rulers over whom. Among the Northland sovereigns, too, I find 
some who got the title wood -cutter; forest-felling kings. Much 
lies in that.* I suppose at bottom many of them were forest- 
fellers as well as fighters, though the Skalds talk mainly of the 
latter. — misleading certain critics not a little; for no nation of 
men could ever live by fighting alone: there could not produce 
enough come out of that! I suppose the right good fighter was 
oftenest also the right good forest-feller, — the right good im- 
prover, discerner, doer and worker in every kind; for true valor, 
different enough from ferocity, is the basis of all. A more legit- 
imate kind of valor that; showing itself against the untamed 
forests and dark brute powers of nature, to conquer nature for 
us. In the same direction have not we their descendants since 
carried it far? May such valor last forever with us! 

That the man Odin, speaking with a hero's voice and heart, 
as with an impressiveness out of heaven, told his people the in- 
finite importance of valor, how man thereby became a god; and 
that his people, feeling a response to it in their own hearts, be- 
lieved this message of his, and thought it a message out of 

* Compare with what Ruskin says concerning the military life 
Of a nation. 



116 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

heaven, and him a divinity for telling it them: this seems to me 
the primary seed grain of the Norse religion, from which all 
manner of mythologies, symbolic practices, speculations, allego- 
ries, songs and sagas would naturally grow. Grow, — how 
strangely! I called it a small light shining and shaping in the 
huge vortex of Norse darkness. Yet the darkness itself was 
alive; consider that. It was the eager, inarticulate, uninstructed 
mind of the whole Norse people, longing only to become articu- 
late, to go on articulating ever farther! The living doctrine 
grows, grows; — like a banyan-tree; the first seed is the essential 
thing: any branch strikes itself down into the earth, becomes a 
new root, and so, in endless complexity, we have a whole wood, 
a whole jungle, one seed the parent of it all. Was not the whole 
Norse religion, accordingly, in some sense, what we called ' the 
enormous shadow of this man's likeness?' Critics trace some 
affinity in some Norse myth uses, of the creation and such like, 
with those of the Hindoos. The cow Adumbla, 'licking the 
rime from the rocks, ' has a kind of Hindoo look. A Hindoo cow 
transported into frosty countries. Probably enough; indeed we 
may say undoubtedly, these things will have a kindred with the 
remotest lands, with the earliest times. Thought does not die, 
but only is changed. The first man that began to think in this 
planet of ours, he was the beginner of all. And then the second 
man, and the third man; — nay, every true thinker to this hour is 
a kind of Odin, teaches men his way of thought, spreads a 
shadow of his own likeness, over sections of the history of the 
world. 

The strong old Norse heart did not go upon theatrical sub- 
limities; they had not time to tremble. I like much their robust 
simplicity; their veracity, directness of conception. Thor 'draws 
down his brows' in a veritable Norse rage; ' grasps his hammer 
till the knuckles grow white.' Beautiful traits of pity too, an 
The poetic ten- honest pity. Balder ' the white god' dies; the beau- 
Norse myth, tiful, benignant; he is the sun-god. They try all 
nature for a remedy; but he is dead. Frigga, his mother, sends 
Hermoder to seek or see him; nine days and nine nights he rides 
through gloomy deep valleys, a labyrinth of gloom; arrives at the 
bridge with its gold roof; the keeper says, ' Yes, Balder did pass 



117 

here; but the kingdom of the dead is down yonder, far towards 
the north.' Hermoder rides on; leaps Hell-gate, Hela's gate; does 
see Balder, and speak with him; Balder cannot be delivered! In^ 
exorable! Hela will not, for Odin or any god give him up. The 
beautiful and gentle has to remain there. His wife had volun- 
teered to go with him, to die with him. They shall forever re- 
main there. He sends his ring to Odin; Nanna his wife, sends 
her thimble to Frigga, as a remembrance — Ah me ! — 

For indeed valor is the fountain of pity too; — of truth, and all 
that is great and good in man. The robust homely vigor of the 
Norse heart attaches one much in these delineations. Is it not a 
trait of right honest strength, says Uhland, who has written a 
fine essay on Thor, that the old Norse heart finds its friend in the 
thunder-god? That it is not frightened away by his thunder; 
but finds that summer-heat, the beautiful noble summer, must 
and will have thunder withal! The Norse heart loves this Thor 
and his hammer-bolt; sports with him. Thor is summer heat; 
the god of peaceable industry as well as thunder. He is the 
peasant's friend; his true henchman and attendant is Thialfi, 
manual labor. Thor himself engages in all manner of rough 
manual work; scorns no business for its plebeianism; is ever and 
anon traveling to the country of the Jotuns, harrying those chaotic 
frost-monsters, subduing them; at least straitening and damaging 
them. There is a great broad humor in some of these things. 

Thor, as we saw above, goes to Jotun-land, to seek Hymir's 
caldron, that the gods may brew beer. Hymir the huge giant 
enters, his gray beard all full of hoar-frost; splits pillars with the 
very glance of his eye; Thor, after much rough tumult, snatches 
the pot, claps it on his head; the ' handles of it reach down to his 
heels. ' The Norse Skald has a kind of loving sport with Thor. 
This is the Hymir whose cattle, the critics have discovered, are 
icebergs. Huge untutored Brobdignag genius, — needing only to 
be tamed down; into Shakespeares, Dantes, Goethes! It is all 
gone now, that old Norse work, — Thor the thunder-god changed 
into Jack the giant-killer; but the mind that made it is here yet. 
How strangely things grow, and die, and do not die! There are 
twigs of that great world-tree of Norse belief still curiously trace- 
able. This poor Jock of the nurser} r , with his miraculous shoes 



118 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

jack the giant- of swiftness, coat of darkness, sword of sharpness, 
growth of°the he is one. Hynde Etin, and still more dicisively, Red 
myth - Etin of Ireland, in the Scottish ballads, these are 

both derived from Norseland; Etin is evidently a Jotun. Nay, 
Shakespeare's Hamlet is a twig, too, of this same world-tree; 
there seems no doubt of that. Hamlet, Amleth, I find is really a 
mythic personage; and his tragedy of the poisoned father, poisoned 
asleep by drops in his ear, and the rest, is a Norse mythus! Old 
Saxo, as his wont was, made it a Danish history; Shakespeare, 
out of Saxo, made it what we see. That is a twig of the world- 
tree that has groton, I think; — by nature or accident that one has 
grown ! 

In fact, these old Norse songs have a truth in them, an in- 
ward perennial truth and greatness — as, indeed, all must have 
that can very long preserve itself by tradition alone. It is a great- 
ness not of mere body and gigantic bulk, but a rude greatness of 
soul. There is a sublime, uncomplaining melancholy traceable 
in these old hearts. A great free glance into the very deeps of 
thought. They seem to have seen, these brave old Northmen, 
what meditation has taught all men in all ages, that this world 
is after all but a show, — a phenomenon or appearance, no real 
thing. All deep souls see into that — the Hindoo mythologist, the 
German philosopher, — the Shakespeare, the earnest thinker, 
wherever he may be: 

We are such stuff as dreams are made of ! 

One of Thor's expeditions, to Utgard (the Outer garden, cen- 
tral seat of Jotun-lancl), is remarkable in this respect. Thialfi 
was with him, and Loke. After various adventures, they en- 
tered upon giant-land; wandered over plains, wild uncultivated 
places, among stones and trees. At nightfall the} r noticed a house; 
and as the door, which indeed formed one whole side of the house, 
was open, they entered. It was a simple habitation; one large 
hall, altogether empty. They stayed there. Suddenly in the 
dead of the night loud noises alarmed them. Thor grasped his 
hammer; stood in the door, prepared for fight. His companions 
within ran hither and thither in their terror, seeking some outlet 
in that rude hall; they found a little closet at last, and took refuge 



carlyle's theory of the myth 119 

there. Neither had Thor any battle; for, lo, in the morning it 
turned out that the noise had been only the snoring of a certain 
enormous but peaceable giant, the Giant Skrymir, who lay peace- 
ably sleeping near by; and this that they took for a house was 
merely his glove, thrown aside there; the door was the glove- 
wrist; the little closet they had fled into was the thumb! Such 
a glove; I remark too that it had not fingers as ours have, but 
only a thumb, and the rest undivided; a most ancient rustic 
glove ! 

Skrymir now carried their portmanteau all day; Thor, how- 
ever, had his own suspicions, did not like the ways of Skrymir; 
determined at night to put an end to him as he slept. Raising 
his hammer, he struck down into the giant's face a right thun- 
The story of derbolt blow, of force to rend rocks. The giant 
merely awoke; rubbed his cheek, and said, Did a 
leaf fall? Again Thor struck, so soon as Skrymir again slept; 
a better blow than before; but the giant only murmured, Was 
that a grain of sand? Trior's third stroke was with both his 
hands (the 'knuckles white' I suppose), and seemed to dint deep 
in Skrymir's visage; but he merely checked his snore, and re- 
marked, There must be sparrows roosting in this tree, I think; 
what is that they have dropt? — At the gate of Utgard, a place so 
high that you had to 'strain your neck bending back to see the 
top of it,' Skrymir went his ways. Thor and his companions 
were admitted; invited to take share in the games going on. To 
Thor, for his part, they handed a drinking-horn; it was a com- 
mon feat, they told him, to drink this dry at one draught. Long 
and fiercely, three times over, Thor drank: but made hardly any 
impression. He was a weak child they told him; could he lift 
that cat he saw there? Small as the feat seemed, Thor with his 
whole god-like strength could not ; he bent up the creature's 
back, could not raise its feet off the ground, could at the utmost 
raise one foot. Why, you are no man, said the Utgard people; 
there is an old woman that will wrestle you! Thor, heartily 
ashamed, seized this haggard old woman ; but could not 
throw her. 

And now, on their quitting Utgard, the chief Jotun, escorting 
them politely a little way, said to Thor: 'You are beaten then: 



120 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

—-yet be not so much ashamed; there was deception of appear- 
ance in it. That horn you tried to drink was the sea; you did 
make it ebb; but who could drink that, the bottomless! The 
cat you would have lifted, — why, that is the midgard snake, the 
great world serpent, which, tail in mouth, girds and keeps-up, 
the whole created world; had you torn that up, the world must 
have rushed to ruin ! As for the old woman, she was time, old 
age, duration: with her what can wrestle? No man nor no god 
with her; gods or men, she prevails over all ! And then those 
three strokes you struck, — look at these three valleys; your three 
strokes made these!' Thor looked at his attendant Jotun: it 
was Skrymir; — it was, say Norse critics, the old chaotic rocky 
earth in person, and that glove-house was some earth cavern! 
But Skrymir had vanished; Utgard with its skyhigh gates, when 
Thor grasped his hammer to smite them, had gone to air; only 
the giant's voice was heard mocking : ' Better come no more to 
Jotunheim ! ' — 

This is of the allegoric period, as we see, and half play, not 
of the prophetic and entirely devout: but as a my thus is there 
not real antique Norse gold in it? More true metal, rough from 
the mimer-stithy, than in many a famed Greek mythus shaped 
far better! A great broad Brobdignag grin of true humor is in 
this Skrymir; mirth resting on earnestness and sadness, as the 
rainbow on black tempest; only a right valiant heart is capable 
of that. It is the grim humor of our own Ben Jonson, rare old 
Ben; runs in the blood of us, I fancy; for one catches tones of it, 
Under a still other shape, out of the American backwoods. 

That is also a very striking conception that of the Bagnarok 

consummation, or ticilight of the gods. It is in the Vdluspa 

song; seemingly a very old prophetic idea. The gods and Jotuns, 

the divine powers and the chaotic brute ones, after long contest 

and partial victory by the former, meet at last 

The contest be- . J J 

tween light and in universal world - embracing wrestle and duel; 
world serpent against Thor, strength against 
strength ; mutually extinctive ; and ruin, ' twilight ' sinking 
into darkness, swallows the created universe. The old uni- 
verse with its gods is sunk ; but it- is not final death: there 
is to be a new heaven and a new earth; a higher supreme god, 



CARLYLE S THEORY OF THE MYTH 121 

and justice to reign among men. Curious: this law of mutation, 
which also is a law written in man's inmost thought, had been 
deciphered by these old earnest thinkers in their rude style ; and 
how, though all dies, and even gods die, yet all death is but a 
phoenix fire-death, and new-birth into the greater and the better! 
It is the fundamental law of being for a creature made of time, 
living in this place of hope. All earnest men have seen into it; 
may still see into it. 

And now, connected with this, let us glance at the last mythus 
of the appearance of Thor; and end there. I fancy it to be the 
latest in date of all these fables; a sorrowing protest against the 
advance of Christianity, — set forth reproachfully by some con- 
servative pagan. King Olaf has been harshly blamed for his 
over-zeal in introducing Christianity ; surely I should have 
blamed him far more for an under-zeal in that! He paid dear 
enough for it ; he died by the revolt of his pagan people, in 
battle, in the year 1033, at Stickelstad, near that Drontheim, 
where the chief cathedral of the north has now stood for many 
centuries dedicated gratefully to his memory as Saint Olaf. The 
mythus about Thor is to this effect. King Olaf, the Christian 
reform king, is sailing with fit escort along the shore of Norway, 
from haven to haven; dispensing justice, or doing other royal 
work: on leaving a certain haven, it is found that a stranger, of 
grave eyes and aspect, red beard, of stately robust figure, has 
stept in. The courtiers address him; his answers surprise by 
their pertinency and depth: at length he is brought to the king. 
The stranger's conversation here is not less remarkable, as the}- 
sail along the beautiful shore; but after some time, he addresses 
King Olaf thus: 'Yes, King Olaf, it is all beautiful, with the 
sun shining on it there ; green, fruitful, a right fair home for 
you; and many a sore day had Thor, many a wild fight with the 
rock Jotuns, before he could make it so. And now you seem 
minded to put away Thor. King Olaf have a care!' said the 
stranger, drawing down his brows; — and when they looked again, 
he was nowhere to be found. — This is the last appearance of 
Thor on the stage of this world ! 

Do we not see well enough how the fable might arise without 
unveracity on the part of anyone? It is the w ay most gods 



122 the world's literature 

have come to appear among men; thus, if in Pindar's time ' Nep- 
tune was seen once at the Nemean games, ' what was this Nep- 
tune, too, but a 'stranger of noble grave aspect, '—fit to be 
1 seen! ' There is something pathetic, tragic for me in this last 
voice of paganism. Thor is vanished, the whole Norse world 
has vanished, and will not return ever again. In like fashion to 
that pass away the highest things. All things that have been in 
this world, all things that are or will be in it have to vanish; we 
have our sad farewell to give them. 

That Norse religion, a rude, but earnest, sternly impressive 
consecration of valor (so we may define it), sufficed for these old 
valiant North men. Consecration of valor is not a bad thing! 
cariyie's con- ^ e wn *l ta ^ e ^ ^ or g°°d so far as it goes. Neither 
elusion. j s there no use in knowing something about this old 

paganism of our fathers. Unconsciously, and combined with 
higher things, it is in us yet, that old faith withal! To know it 
consciously, brings us into closer and clearer relation with the 
past, — with our own possessions in the past. For the whole 
past, as I keep repeating, is the possession of the present; the 
past had always something true, and is a precious possession. In 
a different time, in a different place, it is always some other side 
of our common human nature that has been developing itself. 
The actual true is the sum of all these; not any one of them by 
itself constitutes what of human nature is hitherto developed. 
Better to know them all than misknow them. ' To which of 
these three religions do you specially adhere?' inquires Meister 
of his teacher. ' To all the three! ' answers the other; " to all the 
three, for they by their union first constitute the true religion. ' " 

Education does not consist in the amount of so-called 
"positive knowledge" which one may gain, but in the 
acquisition of the power to reason on given conditions 
and to come to independent conclusions. 

If we compare the theories of Ruskin with those of 
Carlyle we must see that each of these great writers 
formed a judgment wholly his own, equally sincere and 
yet almost totally different. It is not the object of this 



carlyle's theory of the myth 123 

work to force upon the student opinions concerning the 
origin of mythology, but to place before him the con- 
clusions of these great and earnest thinkers, that he may 
be stimulated in like manner to come to a belief of his 
own on the subject, and that he may accept the theory 
or the theories which may seem most reasonable to him. 
In conclusion, let us turn once more to the pages of J. 
Addington Symonds: 

1 ' Euhemerus, the contemporary of the Macedonian Cassan- 
der, wrote a kind of novel in which he made out that all the 
Euhemerus, in gods and heroes had once been men. The hold 
exander the " which it has retained upon the minds of succeeding 

Great, held the _ . _ ^ ,_ . ., _.-_ 

Historic theory ages is sufficient to show that it readily approves 

of the origin of ° „ J L L 

the myth. itself to the understanding. It seems to make 

everything quite smooth and easy. Unfortunately there is no 
guide more delusive. It destroys the true value of mythology, 
considered as the expression of primitive thought and fancy, re- 
ducing it to a mere decayed and weed-grown ruin of prosaic fact, 
symonds disap- Plato was right when he refused to rationalize the 

proves a too 

close following myths, and when, by his own use of myths, he 

of the Historic J J J 

theory. showed their proper nature as the vehicle for 

thoughts as yet incapable of more exact expression. At the same 
time it would be unphilosophical to deny that real persons and 
actual events have supplied in some cases the subject-matter of 
mythology. 

As the result of analysis the following propositions may be ad- 
vanced. In the earliest ages the races to whom we owe languages 
and literature and art possessed a faculty which may be called 
the myth-making, now almost wholly extinct, or rather super- 
seded by the exercise of other faculties which it had in embryo. 
Conclusions of The operation of this faculty was analogous to that 

John Adding- * J & 

ton symonds. of the poet — that is to say, it was guided by the im- 
agination more than by the dry light of the understanding, and its 
creative energies varied in proportion to the imaginative vigor of 
the race which exercised it. * * * * 



124 the world's literature 

Marvelous is the vitality of mythology. Indissoluble is its 
connection with the art and culture which sprang from it. Long 
after it has died as religion it lives on in poetry, retaining its 
original quality, though the theology contained in it has been 
forever superseded or absorbed into more spiritual creeds." 



THE HOMERIC PERIOD. 



CHAPTER IV. 

The Story of the Iliad. 

History, like Nature, "knows no lines." Between 
the mythical and the authentic there is no well denned 
boundary. Each nation has had its myth-forming 
period, and this period continually shades over into the 
definitely historic. There is no doubt that there existed 
in many countries previous to the Homeric Age a large 
literature, much of it in a loose, uncrystallized condi- 
tion, floating fragments, not put together in compact 
form. In India, Egypt, Persia, Chaldea and Judea such 
literatures existed. Of these the book of Job, coming at 
least 1500 B. C, was, without doubt, the greatest, the 
most concentrated and artistic, but as this poem is ac- 
cessible to every student, it will be omitted here. 

The Vedas of India are believed to be as old as 
2000 B. C. They taught one all-powerful Creator, om- 
nipresent, true, unknown. The Egyptian " Book of 
the Dead " deals with the prayers of the people of that 
nation, the nature of their deities and the relation of 
man to nature and the higher powers. Among the Per- 
sians, the Zend Avesta, compiled by Zoroaster, was the 
oldest literary monument. There is an abundance of 
evidence that all of these have had an influence in shap- 
ing modern thought. But since the Greek is so largely 
incorporated into nearly all later classics that almost 
every great piece of modern writing presupposes an in- 
timate knowledge of Hellenic thought, we will pass on 

125 







Scyros. 



'ejttejfcus ML 

D to, 

^PCYTHEEA 




ANCIENT GREECE. 

The Greeks called their country Hellas, and not Greece. The 
Cambunian mountains separated it on the north from Macedonia; 
the Thracian Sea and the JEgaean lay on the east of it, and the 
Ionian to the west. It extends into the Mediterranean in the form 
of a hand, in whose palm is an elevated plateau, Arcadia, and 
through each ringer is a line of hills. It is 250 miles from the 
Cambunian mountains to the sea, and 180 miles from east to west. 
That it had so many indentations and such a multitude of islands 
around its coast accounts for the freedom of its people, and their 
civilization. 

It is probable that branches of the Aryan family settled in 
Greece as early as 2000 B. C. ; that a more vigorous branch, the 
Hellenes, overwhelmed them, and gave their own name to the 
country; that the Hellenes consisted of four classes — the Dorians, 
iEolians, Acheaens, and Ionians— the Dorians, according to the 
Homeric poems, occupying the northern part, the JEolians the 
southwestern part, the Achseans the southeastern, and the Ionians 
the northern coast of the peninsula. 

126 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD 127 

as rapidly as possible to the poems of Homer, where 
we shall study not from dictionaries of mythology, but 
from the original sources, whence makers of dictionaries 
draw their information, not only the myth, but also 
much that is history; and if, by the foregoing pages, 
our minds have been aroused to the importance of this 
study and the questions it involves, we shall look for 
the evidences of the origin of mythology, and for the 
beauty in them, while we learn to separate the history 
from the myth, and to recognize the habits of Jthe peo- 
ple as well as their ideals. 

' ' It is common to divide the history of Greek literature into 
three chief periods; the first embracing the early growth of poetry 
, Periods of and P rose ' before the age in which Athens became 

SnS^ccording supreme in Hellas — that is, anterior to 480 B. C; 
to symonds. ^he second coinciding with the brilliant maturity of 
Greek genius during the supremacy of Athens — that is, from the 
termination of the Persian war to the age of Alexander; the third 
extending over the decline and fall of the Greek spirit after Alex- 
ander's death — that is, from B. C. 323, and onwards to the final 
extinction of Hellenic civilization. There is much to be said in 
favor of this division. Indeed. Greek history falls naturally into 
these three sections. But a greater degree of accuracy may be 
obtained by breaking up the first and last of these divisions, so as 
to make five periods, instead of three. The first may be termed 
the Heroic, or Prehistoric, or Legendary period. It ends with 
the first Olympiad,* B. C. 776, and its chief monuments are the 
epics of Homer and Hesiod. 

The great name of Homer covers the whole of the first period 
of Greek literature. It is from the Homeric poems alone that 
we can form a picture to the imagination of the state of society 
in prehistoric Hellas. The picture which they present is so 

*01ympiad, the year in which the Olympic Festival was held. 
This occurred for the first time in the year 776 B. C. The festival 
was celebrated once in four years in the plain of Olympia, in honor 
of Jupiter. 



128 the world's literature 

lively in its details, and so consistent in all its parts, that we have 

no reason to suspect that it was drawn from fancy. Its ideal, as 

distinguished from merely realistic character, is obvious. The 

poet professes to sing to us of heroes who were the 

Literature the 

best vehicle sons of gods, whose strength exceeded tenfold the 
strength of actual men, and who filled the world 
with valiant deeds surpassing all that their posterity achieved. 
Yet, in spite of this, the Iliad and Odyssey may be taken as 
faithful mirrors of a certain phase of Greek society, just as the 
Niebelungen Lied,* the romances of Charlemagne, f and the tales 
of the Round Table reflect three stages in the history of feudal- 
ism. Weefind that in this earliest period of Greek history the 
nation was governed by monarchs, each of whom claimed descent 
from a god. Thus the kings exercised their power over people 
by divine right, but at the same time a neccessary condition of 
their maintaining this supremacy was that they should be supe- 
rior in riches, lands, personal bravery and wisdom. Their sub- 
jects obeyed them not merely because they were the ' sons of 
gods,' or because they were fathers of the people, but also, and 
chiefly, because they were the ablest men, the men fitted by na- 
ture to rule, the men who could be depended on in an emergency. 
The king had just so much personal authority as he had the abil- 
ity to acquire or assert. As soon as this ability failed, the 
scepter departed from him. Thus Laertes:): over-lives his roy- 
alty, and the suitors of Penelope, fancying that Ulysses is dead, 
take no heed of Telemachus, who ought to rule in his stead, be- 
cause Telemachus is a mere lad; but as soon as the hero returns, 
and proves his might by stringing the bow, the suitors are slain 
like sheep. Again, Achilles, while acknowledging the sway of 
Agamemnon, quarrels with him openly, proving his equality and 
right to such independence as he can assert for himself. The 
bond between the king in the heroic age and his chieftains 
was founded on the personal superiority of their lord, and upon 

"^Niebelungen Lied (pronounced Nee-bel-oong'-en Leed), the 
great early German epic poem. 

t Charlemagne (Charles the Great) , was born in the year 742 
A. D. He was the sovereign of the Western Empire, which in- 
cluded Germany, France, apart of Spain and Italy, &c, &c. 

{Laertes, the father of Ulysses and grandfather of Telemachus. 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD 129 

the necessity felt for the predominance of one individual in war- 
fare and council. The chiefs were grouped around the monarch 
like the twelve peers round Charlemagne, or like the barons 
whose turbulence Shakespeare has described in Richard II 

The relation of the Homeric sovereign to his princes was, in 
fact, a feudal one. Olympus repeats the same form of govern- 
ment. There Zeus is monarch simply because he wields the 
Greek history thunder. When Here (Juno) wishes to rebel, Heph- 

as found in the .„ , . , .• _ . . 

iiiad. aestus (\ ulcan) advises her to submit, because 

Zeus can root up the world, or hurl them all from the crystal 
parapet of heaven. Such, then, is the society of kings and princes 
in Homer. They stand forth in brilliant relief against the back- 
ground, gray and misty, of the common people. The masses of 
the nation, like the chorus in tragedy, kneel passive, deedless, 
appealing to heaven, trembling at the strokes of fate, watching 
w T ith anxiety the action of the heroes. Meanwhile the heroes 
enact their drama for themselves. They assume responsibility. 
They do and suffer as their passions sway them. Of these the 
greatest, the most truly typical is Achilles. In Achilles, Homer 
summed up and fixed forever the ideal of the Greek character. 
He presented an imperishable picture of their national youthful- 
Analogy be- ness, and of their ardent genius to the Greeks. The 

tween the child , ._ _ _ , . •»-,.,, 

of to-day and ' beautiful human heroism of Achilles, his strong 

the primitive ° 

personality, his fierce passions controlled and tem- 
pered by divine wisdom, his intense friendship and love that 
passed the love of women, above all, the splendor of his youthful 
life in death made perfect, hovered like a dream above the im- 
agination of the Greeks, and insensibly determined their subse- 
quent development. At a later age, this ideal was destined to be 
realized in Alexander. The reality fell below the ideal, but the 
life of Alexander is the most convincing proof of the importance 
of Achilles in the history of the Greek race. 

If Achilles be the type of the Hellenic genius — radiant, adoles- 
cent, passionate — as it still dazzles us in its artistic beauty and 
unrivalled physical energy, Ulysses is no less a true portrait of 
the Greek as known to us in history — stern in action, ruthless in 
his hatred, pitiless in his hostility, subtle, vengeful, cunning; yet 
at the same time the most adventurous of men, the most persua- 



130 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

sive in eloquence, the wisest in counsel, the bravest and coolest 
in danger. And what remains to-day of the Hellenic genius in 
the so-called Greek nation descends from Ulysses rather than 
Achilles. If the Homeric Achilles has the superiority of sculp- 
turesque and dramatic splendor, the Homeric Ulysses excels him 
on the ground of permanence of type. 

Homer, then, was the poet of the heroic age, the poet of 

Achilles and Ulysses. Of Homer we know nothing, we have 

heard too much. Need we ask ourselves again the 

"Homer his 

own witness." question whether he existed, or whether he sprang 

—Gladstone. L 

into the full possession of consummate art without 
a predecessor? That he had no predecessors, no scattered poems 
and ballads to build upon, no well-digested body of myths to 
synthesize, is an absurd hypothesis, which the whole history of 
literature refutes. That, on the other hand, there never was a 
Homer, that is to say, that some compiler, acting under the orders 
of Pisistratus, gave its immortal outline to the colossus of the 
Iliad, and wove the magic web of the Odyssey; but that no 
supreme and conscious artist working towards a well planned con- 
clusion conceived and shaped these epics to the form they bear, 
appears to the spirit of sound criticism equally untenable. The 
very statement of this alternative involves a contradiction in 
terms; for such a compiler must himself have been a supreme 
and conscious artist. Some Homer did exist. Some great single 
poet intervened between the lost chaos of legendary material and 
the world of artistic beauty which we now possess. His work 
may have been tampered with in a thousand ways, and religiously 

Gladstone argues that the plot of the Iliad is one of the many 
internal evidences in favor of its unity, and hence that it is one of 
the most consummate works known to literature. The objections 
founded on the plot "to disprove the unity of the work are," he 
says, ''objections of very small stature, and not only is it not true 
that want of cohesion and proportion in the Iliad betrays a plurality 
of authors, but it is rather true that a structure so highly and deli- 
cately organized constitutes in itself a powerful argument, to prove 
its unity of conception and execution. With regard to discrep- 
ancies in the text, every effort to show them in mass may be 
declared to have failed. The markings of time, by division into 
day and night, are clear and consistent." Mr. Fiske also argues 
the impossibility of several great geniuses like Homer, coming 
together, or near enough together to jointly supply the material 
for so great a poem- 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD 131 

but inadequately restored. Of his age, and date, and country. 
we may know nothing: but this we do know, that the fire of 
moulding, fusing and controlling genius in some one brain has 
made the Iliad and Odyssey what they are. 

The epic poet merges his personality in his poems, the words 
of which he ascribes to the inspiration of the muse. The indi- 
vidual is nowhere, is forgotten in the subject and suppressed, 
while the luminous forms of gods and heroes move serenely 
symonds, like across the stage, summoned and marshalled by the 
satisfied n with maidens of Helicon.* In no other period of Greek 

the internal evi- . 

dences that the literature shall we find the same unconsciousness of 

Iliad (the Odys- . 

sey also) was self, the same immersion in the work of art. 

the work of one . ... . 

man. It is the sign of a return to healthy criticism that 

scholars are beginning to acknowledge that the Iliad may be one 
poem—that is to say. no mere patchwork of ballads and minor 
epics put together by some compiler, but the work of a single 
poet, who surveyed his creation as an artist, and was satisfied 
with its unity. We are not bound to pronounce an opinion as to 
whether this poet was named Homer. 4 whether Homer ever 
existed, and. if so. at what period of the world's history he lived. 

* The maidens of Helicon— the Muses. They were daughters of 
Zeus, nine in number, and taught the people song. 

t " Though the Homeric age appears to be a late one when con- 
sidered with reference to the whole career of the human race, there 
is a point of view from which it may be justly regarded as ; the 
youth of the world. ' However long man may have existed upon 
the earth, he becomes thoroughly and distinctly human in the eyes 
of the historian only at the epoch at which he began to create for 
himself a literature." . . . " We mention the tenth century before 
Christ as the earliest period at which we can begin to study human 
society in general and Greek society in particular, through the 
medium of literature. But, strictly speaking, the epoch in question 
is one which cannot be fixed with accuracy. The earliest ascer- 
tainable date in Greek history is that of the first Olympiad, 
B. C. 776. There is no doubt that the Homeric poems were written 
before this date, and that Homer is therefore strictly prehistoric." 
" We do not know who Homer was ; we do not know where or 
when he lived; and in all probability we never shall know. The 
data for settling the question are now inaccessible, and it is not 
likely that they will ever be discovered. ,? . . " It is fair to suppose 
the Helleno-Dorian conquest must have begun at least a century 
before the first Olympiad. " . . * 4 If this be the case, the minimum 
date for the composition of the Homeric poems must be the tenth 
century before Christ; which is. in fact, the date assigned by 
Aristotle."— John Fiske in his essay " Juventis Mundi." 



132 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

We are not bound to put forward a complete view concerning the 
college of Homeridae, from which the poet must have arisen if 
he did not found it. Nor, again, need we deny that the Iliad 
itself presents unmistakable signs of having been constructed in 
a great measure out of material already existing in songs and 
romances dear to the Greek nation in their youth, and familiar to 
the poet. The aesthetic critic finds no difficulty in conceding, 
nay, is eager to claim, a long genealogy through antecedent, now 
forgotten, poems for the Iliad. 

But about this, of one thing, at any rate, he will be sure, 
after due experience of the tests applied by Wolf and his fol- 
The key-note of l° wer s, that a great artist gave its present form to 
wrlthof'icnii- tn e Iliad, that he chose from the whole Trojan tale 
a central subject for development, und that all the 
episodes and collateral matter with which he enriched his epic 
were arranged by him with a view to the effect that he had cal- 
culated. What, then, was this central subject, which gives the 
unity of a true work of art to the 'Iliad? We answer, the person 
and the character of Achilles. It is not fanciful to say, with the 
old grammarians of Alexandria, that the first line of the poem 
sets forth the whole of its action — 

Sing, goddess, the wrath of Achilles, son of Peleus. 

The wrath of Achilles, and the consequences of that wrath in 
the misery of the Greeks, left alone to fight without their fated 
hero ; the death of Patroclus caused by his sullen anger ; the 
energy of Achilles, re-awakened by his remorse for his friend's 
death; and the consequent slaughter of Hector, form the whole 
of the simple structure of the Iliad. This seems clear enough 
when we analyze the conduct of the poem. 

The first book describes the quarrel of Achilles with Aga- 
memnon and his secession from the war. The next seven books 
and a half, from the second to the middle of the 

The plan of the . - . . _ •- ' " 

poem as shown ninth, are occupied with the fortunes of the Greeks 

by Symonds. 

and Trojans in the field, the exploits of Diomed and 
Ajax and Hector's attack upon the camp. In the middle of the 
ninth book Achilles reappears upon the scene. Agamemnon 
sends Ulysses and Phoenix to entreat him to relax his wrath and 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD 133 

save the Greeks; but the hero remains obdurate. He has 
resolved that his countrymen shall pay the uttermost penalty for 
the offense of their king!* The poet having fore-determined that 
Achilles shall only consent to fight in order to revenge Patroclus, 
is obliged to show the inefficacy of the strongest motives from 
without; and this he has effected by the episode of the embassy. \ 
The tenth book relates the night attack upon the camp of the 
Trojan allies and the theft of the horses of Rhesus. The next 
live books contain a further account of the warfare carried on 
among the ships between the Achaians and their foes. It is in 
the course of these events that Patroclus comes into prominence. 
We find him attending on the wounded Eurypylus and warning 
Achilles of the imminent peril of the fleet. At last. 

The eulminat- 

ing point of the in the sixteenth book, when Hector has carried fire 

poem. 

to the ship of Protesilaus, Achilles commands Patro- 
clus to assume the armor of Peleus and lead his myrmidons 
to war. 

The same book describes the repulse of Hector and the death 
of Patroclus, while the seventeenth is taken up with the fight for 
the body of Achilles' friend. But from the eighteenth onward 
the true hero assumes his rank as leader or chief actor, making 
us feel that what has gone before has only been a preface to his 
action. His seclusion from the war has not only enabled the 
poet to varv the interest by displaying other charac- 

The retirement " J r * 

of Achiiies a ters, but has also proved the final intervention of 

proof of the L 

unity of the Achilles to be absolutely necessary for the success 

poem. 

of the Greek army. All the threads of interest are 
gathered together and converge on him. Whatever we have 
learned concerning the situation of the war, and the characters 
of the chiefs now serve to dignify his single person, and to aug- 

* The poet's plan is to show the superior force and power of 
Achilles above all other Greeks; hence he continually puts a 
stronger to conquer a weaker, the stronger in turn to be conquered 
by a stronger yet — until he reaches Hector, whom none but 
Achilles can overpower. 

t In this episode, Agamemnon's pride is humbled far enough 
for him to return to Achilles the captive about whom the quarrel 
began. In addition to this humiliation Agamemnon sends many 
horses and much gold and several captives. But Achilles is too 
u great " to be appeased. 



134 the world's literature 

ment the terror he inspires. With his mere shout he dislodges 
the Trojans from the camp. The divine arms of Hephaestus are 
fashioned for him, and he goes forth to drive the foe like mice 
before him. Then he contends with Simoeis and Scamander, the 
river-gods. Lastly, he slays Hector. What follows in the 
twenty-third and twenty-fourth books seems to be intended as a 
repose from the vehement action and high-wrought passion of 
the preceding five. 

Patroclus is buried, and his funeral games are celebrated. 
Then, at the very end, Achilles appears before us in the interview 
with Priam, no longer as a petulant, spoiled child or fiery bar- 
barian chief, but as a hero, capable of sacrificing his still fierce 
passion for revenge to the nobler emotion of reverence for the age 
and sorrow of the sonless king. 

The centralization of interest in the character of Achilles con- 
stitutes the grandeur of the Iliad. It is also by this that ttie 
Iliad is distinguished from all the narrative epics in the world. 
In the case of all the rest there is one main event, one deed which 
has to be accomplished, one series of" actions with a definite be- 
ginning and ending. In none else are the passions of the hero 
made the main points of the movement. This may be observed 
at once by comparing the Iliad with the chief epical poems of 
European literature. To begin with the Odyssey. The restora- 
tion, after many wanderings of Odysseus (Ulysses) to his wife and 
kingdom forms the subject of this romance. When that has 
been accomplished the Odyssey is completed. In the same way 
the subject of the ^Eneid is the foundation of the Trojan king- 
dom in Italy. iEneas is conducted from Troy to Carthage, from 
Carthage to Latium. He flies from Dido, because fate has de- 
creed that his empire should not take root in Africa. He con- 
quers Turnus because it is destined that he, and not the Latin 
prince, should be the ancestor of Roman kings. As soon as 
Turnus has been killed and Lavinia has been wedded to iEneas, 
the action of the poem is accomplished and the JEneid is com- 
pleted. When we pass to modern epics, the first that meets us is 
the Niebelungen Lied. Here the action turns upon the murder of 
Sigfrit by Hagen, and the vengeance of his bride, Chriemhilt. 
As soon as Chriemhilt has assembled her husband's murderers in 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD 135 

the halls of King* Etzel, and there has compassed their destruc- 
tion, the subject is complete, the Niebelangen is at an end. 

The British epic of the Round Table, if we may regard Sir 
Thomas Mallory's Mori d' Arthur as a poem, centres in the life 
and predestined death of King Arthur. Upon the fate of Arthur 
hangs the whole complex series of events which compose the 
romance. His death is its natural climax, for with him expires 
the Round Table he had framed to keep the pagans in awe. 
After that event nothing remains for the epic poet to relate. 

Thus each of these great epics has one principal event, on 
which the whole action hinges and which leaves nothing more to 
be narrated. But with the Iliad it is different. At the end of 
the Iliad we have Achilles with his fate still unaccomplished, the 
Trojan War still undecided. The Iliad has no one great internal 
event or series of events to narrate. It is an episode in the war of 
Troy, a chapter in the life of Peleus' son. But it does set forth 
with the vivid and absorbing interest that attaches to true artis- 
tic* unity, the character of its hero, selecting for that purpose the 
group of incidents which best display it. 

The Iliad, therefore, has for its whole subject the passion of 
Achilles, that ardent energy or power of the hero, which dis- 
played itself first as anger against Agamemnon, and afterwards 
as love for the lost Patroclus. The truth of this was perceived 
by one of the greatest poets and profoundest critics of the modern 
world, Dante. When Dante, in the Inferno, wished to describe 
Achilles, he w T rote with characteristic brevity: 

u Achillest, who at the last was brought to fight by love." 

In this sentence Dante sounded the whole depth of the Iliad. 
The wrath of Achilles against Agamemnon, which prevented 
him at first from fighting; the love of Achilles, passing the love 

*Symonds proves the artistic unity of the Iliad by the relation 
of all points in it to the central figure, Achilles, though some of the 
parts are not ostensibly related to each other. Real artistic unity 
demands that each part be related to every other part, and all 
parts to the central figure. 

tDante's opinion, that the love of Achilles for Patroclus is the 
pivot on which the whole Iliad turns. It is doubtless true, since 
the action in the poem steadily grows in importance and energy up 
to that point and then gradually relaxes. This is an " internal evi- 
dence" that the poem was written by one poet. 



136 the world's literature 

of women, for Patroclus, which induced him to forego his anger 
and fight at last, these are the two poles on which the Iliad turns. 
Two passions, heroic anger and measureless love, in the breast 
of the chief actor, are the motive forces of the poem. It is this 
simplicity in the structure of the Iliad which constitutes its no- 
bleness. There is no double plot, no attempt to keep our inter- 
est alive by misunderstandings, or treacheries, or thwartings of 
the hero in his aims. These subtleties and resources of art the 
poet, whom we will call Homer, for the sake of brevit} T , discards. 
He trusts to the magnitude of his chief actor, to the sublime cen- 
tral figure of Achilles, for the whole effect of his epic. It is 
hardly necessary to insist upon the highly tragic value of this 
subject. The destinies of two great nations hang trembling in 
the balance. Kings on the earth below, gods in the heavens 
above, are moved to turn this wa} r or that the scale of war. 
Meanwhile the whole must wait upon the passions of one man. 
Nowhere else, in any work of art, has the relation of a single 
heroic character to the history of the world been set forth with 
more of tragic pomp and splendid incident. Across the scene on 
which gods and men are contending in fierce rivalry moves the 
lustrous figure of Achilles, ever potent, ever young, but with the 
ash-white aureole of coming death around his forehead. He, 
too, is in the clutch of destiny. As the price of his decisive 
action, he must lay his life down and retire with sorrow to the 
shades. It is thus that in the very dawn of civilization the 
Greek poet divined the pathos and expounded the philosophy of 
human life, showing how the fate of nations may depend upon 
the passions of a man, who in his turn is but the creature of a 
day, a ripple on the stream of time. Nothing need be said about 
the solar theory, which pretends to explain the tale of Troy. 
The mythus of Achilles may possibly in very distant ages have 
expressed some simple astronomical idea. But for a man to 
think of this with the actual Iliad before his eyes would be about 
as bad as botanizing on his mother's grave. Homer was not 
thinking of the sun when he composed the Iliad. He wove, as 
in a web, all elements of tragic pity and fear, pathos and pas- 
sion, and fateful energy, which constitute the dramas of nations 
and of men. In the two passions, anger and love, which form 



THE STORY OF THE ILIAD 137 

the prominent features of the character of Achilles, there is 
nothing small or mean. Anger has scarcely less right than am- 
bition to be styled the last infirmity of noble minds. And love, 
when it gives the motive force to great action, is sublime. The 
love of Achilles had no softness or effeminacy. The wrath of 
Achilles never degenerated into savagery. Both of these passions, 
instead of weakening the hero, add force to his activity. Homer 
has traced the outlines of the portrait of Achilles so largely that 
criticism can scarcely avoid dwarfing them. In looking closely 
at the picture, there is a danger lest, while we examine the parts, 
we should fail to seize the greatness of the whole. It is better 
to bring together in rapid succession those passages of the Iliad 
which display the character of Achilles under the double aspect 
of anger and of love." 

In the foregoing criticisms of Homer, and in his 
plan of presenting the Iliad as a character study, Sy- 
monds has shown the most ingenious critical acumen, 
and the selections which follow are chosen with refer- 
ence to his plan. 



138 the world's LITERATURE 



CHAPTER VI. 

*The Character of Achilles as Found in the Iliad. 

BOOK I. 
Of Peleus' son, Achilles, sing, O Muse, 
The vengeance, deep and deadly; whence to Greece 
Unnumbered ills arose; which many a soul 
The wrath of ^f mighty warriors to the viewless shades 
Achilles. Untimely sent; they on the battle plain 5 

Unburied lay, a prey to rav'ning dogs, 
And carrion birds, fulfilling thus the plan 
Devised of Jovef since first in wordy war, 
The mighty Agamemnon, King of men, 
Confronted stood by Peleus^ godlike son. 10 

Say then, what God the fatal strife provok'd ? 
Jove's and Latona's§ son; he, filled with wrath 
Against the King, || with deadly pestilence 
The camp afflicted, — and the people died, — 
For Chryses' sake, his priest, whom Atreus' son 15 

With scorn dismiss'd, when to the Grecian ships 
He came, his captive daughter to redeem, 
With costly ransom charg'd: and in his hand 
The sacred fillet of his God he bore, 

And golden staff; to all he sued, but chief 20 

To Atreus' sons, twin captains of the host: 
''Ye sons of Atreus, *[ and ye well-greav'd Greeks, 

*The selections are made from Derby's translation. 

tGladstone recognizes a ''celestial plot" in the Iliad as well as 
a terrestrial. He says, " A persistent controversy in the council 
of Olympus accompanies the struggle upon earth, in which the 
several deities take part." 

JPeleus' son, Achilles. 

fJove's and Latona's son, Apollo. 

j| The king Agamemnon, son of Atreus. 

HThe sons of Atreus were Agamemnon and Menelaus, the hus- 
band of Helen. They were called Atridae. 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES 139 



The priest of May the great Gods, who on Olympus dwell, 

Apollo prays 

tor the restora- Grant you yon liostile city to destroy, 

tion of his « . 

daughter. And home return m safety; but my child 25 

Restore, I pray; her proffer'd ransom take, 
And in his priest, the Lord of light revere." 

Then through the ranks assenting murmurs ran, 

Agamemnon's The priest to rev'rence, and the ransom take: 

inwerence for 

Apoiio. Not so Atrides; he, with haughty mien, 30 

And bitter speech, the trembling sire dismissed: 
' ' Old man, I warn thee, that beside our ships 

I find thee not, or lingering now, or back 

Returning; lest thou prove of small avail 

Thy golden staff, and fillet of thy God. 35 

Her I release not, till her youth be fled; 

Within my walls, in Argos, far from home, 

Her lot is cast, domestic cares to ply, 

And nightly couch prepare. For thee, begone! 

Incense me not, lest ill betide thee now." 40 

He said: the old man trembled, and obeyed; 

Beside the many-dashing Ocean's shore 

Silent he pass'd; and all apart, he pray'd 
? To great Apollo, fair Latona's son: 
• ' Hear me, God of the silver bow ! whose care 45 

Chrysa* surrounds, and Cilia's lovely vale; 

Whose sov'reign sway o'er Tenedos extends; 

O Smintheus, hear ! if e'er my offered gifts 
The vengeance Found favor in thy sight; if e'er to thee 
of Apoiio. ' j burn ' d the fat of bulls and choicest goats, 50 

Grant me this boon — upon the Grecian host 

Let thine unerring darts avenge my tears." 
Thus as he pray'd, his pray'r Apollo heard: 

Along Olympus' heights he pass'd, his heart 

Burning with wrath; behind his shoulders hung 55 

His bow, and ample quiver; at his back 

Rattled the fateful arrows as he mov'd; 

*Chrysa was a town on the coast of Troy, as was Cilia also, and 
Tenedos was an island opposite Troy. At Chrysa was a temple to 
Apollo, and that god was supposed to be the guardian of that region. 



140 the world's LITERATURE 

Like the night-cloud he pass'd; and from afar 
He bent against the ships, and sped the bolt; 
And fierce and deadly twang'd the silver bow. CO 

First on the mules and dogs, on man the last, 
Was pour'd the arrowy storm; and through the camp, 
Constant and num'rous, blaz'd the fun'ral fires. 
Nine days the heav'nly Archer on the troops 
HuiTd his dread shafts; the tenth, th' assembled Greeks 
Achilles call'd to council; so inspir'd 66 

By Juno, white-arm'd Goddess, who beheld 
With pitying eyes the wasting hosts of Greece. 
When all were met, and closety throng'd around, 
Rose the swift-footed chief, and thus began: 70 

' ' Great son of Atreus, to my mind there seems, 
If we would 'scape from death, one only course, 
Home to retrace our steps; since here at once 
By war and pestilence our forces waste. 
The Greeks seek But seek we first some prophet, or some priest, 75 

to know the ^. ... , . 

cause of Apoi- Or some wise vision-seer (since visions too 

From Jove proceed), who may the cause explain, 
Which with such deadly wrath Apollo fires: 
If for neglected hecatombs* or pray'rs 
He blame us; or if fat of lambs and goats 80 

May soothe his anger and the plague assuage/' 

This said, he sat; and Thestor's*son arose, 
Calchas, the chief of seers, to whom were known 
The present, and the future, and the past; 
Who, by his mystic art, Apollo's gift, 85 

Guided to Iliunrsf shore the Grecian fleet. 
Who thus with cautious speech replied, and said: 
• ' Achilles, lov'd of Heav'n, thou bidd'st me say 
Why thus incens'd the far-destroying King; 
Therefore I speak; but promise thou, and swear, 90 

By word and hand, to bear me harmless through. 
For well I know my speech must one offend, 

*Hecatomb, the sacrifice of a hundred bulls, 
tllium, Troy. 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES 141 

The Argive chief, o'er all the Greeks supreme; 
And terrible to men of low estate 

The anger of a King; for though awhile 95 

caiehas reveals He veil his wrath, yet in his bosom pent 
It still is nurs'd. until the time arrive: 
Say. then, wilt thou protect me. if I speak? " 

Him answer 'd thus Achilles, swift of foot: 
" Speak boldly out whatever thine art can tell; 100 

For by Apollo's self I swear, whom thou. 
O. Calchas, serv'st. and who thy words inspires. 
That, while I live, and see the light of Heav'n, 
Not one of all the Greeks shall dare on thee, 
Beside our ships, injurious hands to lay; 105 

No, not if Agamemnon's self were he, 
Who 'mid our warriors boasts the foremost place." 

Embolden'd thus, th' unerring prophet spoke: 
" Not for neglected hecatombs or pray'rs. 
But for his priest, whom Agamemnon scorn'd 110 

Nor took his ransom, nor his child restor'd ; 
On his account the Far-destroyer sends 
This scourge of pestilence, and yet will send; 
Nor shall we cease his heavy hand to feel 
Till to her sire we give the bright-ey'd girl, 115 

Unbought. unransom'd. and to Chrysa's shore 
A solemn hecatomb despatch: this done. 
The God, appeas'd, his anger may remit." 

This said, he sat; and Atreus' godlike son. 
Agamemnon's The mighty monarch. Agamemnon, rose. 120 

bSflof cai- re * His dark soul fill'd with fury, and his eyes 
Flashing like flames of fire, on Calchas first 
A withering glance he cast, and thus he spoke: 

' ' Prophet of ill ! thou never speak'st to me 
But words of evil omen: for thy soul 125 

Delights to augur ill. but aught of good 
Thou never yet hast promis'd nor perform'd. 
And now among the Greeks thou spread 'st abroad 
Thy lying prophecies, that all these ills 
Come from the Far-destroyer, for that I 1 30 



142 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

Refus'd the ransom of my lovely prize, 

And that I rather chose herself to keep, 

Agamemnon 

yields up the To me not less than Glvtemnestra dear. 

captive. 

My virgin-wedded wife; nor less adorn'd 
In gifts of form, of feature, or of mind. 135 

Yet, if it must be so, I give her back; 
I wish my people's safety, not their death. 
But seek me out forthwith some other spoil, 
Lest empty-handed I alone appear 

Of all the Greeks; for this would ill beseem 140 

And how I lose my present share, ye see." 
To w r hom Achilles, swift of foot, replied : 

' ' Haughtiest of men, and greediest of the prey I 
How shall our valiant Greeks for thee seek out 
Some other spoil? no common fund have we 145 

Of hoarded treasures; what our arms have won 
From captur'd towns, has been already shar'd, 
Nor can we now resume th' apportion'd spoil 
Restore the maid, obedient to the god ! 
And if Heav'n will that we the strong-built walls 150 

Of Troy should raze, our warriors will to thee 
A threefold, fourfold recompense assign." 
To whom the monarch Agamemnon thus : 

* ' Think not, Achilles, valiant though thou art 
In fight, and god-like to defraud me thus; 155 

Thou shalt not so persuade me, nor o'erreach. 
Think'st thou to keep thy portion of the spoil, 
"While I with empty hands sit humbly down ? 
The bright-ey'd girl thou bidd'st me to restore; 
If then the valiant Greeks for me seek out 160 

Some other spoil, some compensation just, 
'Tis well ; if not, I with my own right hand 
Will from some other chief, from thee perchance. 
Or Ajax, or Ulysses, wrest his prey; 

And woe to him, on wdiomsoe'er I call ! 165 

But this for future counsel we remit : 
Haste we then now our dark ribb'd bark to launch, 
Muster a fitting crew, and place on board 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES 143 

The sacred hecatomb ; then last embark 

The fair Chryseis ; and in chief command 170 

Let some one of our councillors be plac'd. 

Ajax, Ulysses, or Idomeneus, 

Or thou, the most ambitious of them all, 

That so our rites may soothe the angry God." 

To whom Achilles thus with scornful glance : 175 

" Oh, cloth'd in shamelessness ! oh, sordid soul ! 
How canst thou hope that any Greek for thee 
Will brave the toils of travel or of war ? 
Well dost thou know that 'twas no feud of mine 
With Troy's brave sons that brought me here in arms, 180 
They never did me wrong ; they never drove 
My cattle, or my horses ; never sought 
Achilles re- Phthia's fertile, life-sustaining fields 

bnkes Aga- „, , , _ . , , . , 

memnon. To waste the crops ; for wide between us lay 

The shadowy mountains and the roaring sea. 185 

With thee. O void of shame ! with thee we saii'd. 

For Menelaus and for thee, ingrate. 

Just retribution to exact from Troy. 

All this hast thou forgotten, or despis'd : 

And threat 'nest now to wrest from me the prize 190 

I labour d hard to win, and Greeks bestow 'd. 

Xor does my portion ever equal thine, 

When on some populous town our troops have made 

Successful war; in the contentious fight 

The larger portion of the toil is mine; 195 

But when the day of distribution comes, 

Thine is the richest spoil: while I, forsooth. 

Must be too well content to bear on board 

Some paltry prize for all my warlike toil. 

Achmes threat- To Phthia now I go; so better far, 200 

ens to with- 

draw. To steer my homeward course, and leave thee here, 

But little like, I deem, dishonoring me, 
To fill thy coffers with the spoils of war.'' 
Whom answer 'd Agamemnon. King of men: 
" Fly then, if such thy mind! I ask thee not 205 

On mine account to stay; others there are 



144 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

Will guard my honor and avenge my e- 

And chief of all. the Lord of counsel. J 

Of all the Heav*n-bor: _ :hou art the man 

I hate the most: for thou delightst in nought 

But war and strife: thy prowess I all 

Yei I /.is. remember, is the gift of Heav'n. 
irn then, with th if thou wilt. 

And with thy followers, home: and lord it there 

i thy Myrmidons! I heed thee not ! 215 

I care not for thy fury! Hear my thrr 

Sin ? ebns wrests hi :s from my arms. 

In mine own ship, and with mine own good crew. 

Her I send forth: and. in her stead. I mean. 
Agamemnon Ev'n from thy tent, myself, to bear thy prize. 230 
^pI??ebeiong- The fair Briseis: that henceforth thou k: 
ingto a . How far I am thy master: and that, taught 

By thine example, others too may fear 
ival me. and brave me to my f i 
Thus while he spake. Achilles chaf d with r _ 

And in his manly breast his heart was torn 

With thoughts conflicting — whether from his side 
iraw his mighty sword, and thrusting by 

Th* assembled throng, to kill th" insulting King: 
a philips- wrath ^ school his soul and keep his anger down. 
he ^ ins - But while in mind and spirit thus he m 

And half unsheath'ed his sword, from Heavn came down 

Miner? sent by Juno, white-arm'd Qu 

Whose love and care both chiefs alike enjoy'd. 

She stood behind, and by the yellow hair 335 

Athena riais She held the son <:: Helens, visible 
" " T him alone, by all the rest unseen. 

Achilles, wond'ring. turnd. and straight he kr_ 

The blue-eyed Pallas: awful was her glance: 

Whom thus the chief with wing* rds address 

* Why com'st thou, child of aegis-bearing Jove 241 

T sec the in .ance of Atre - 

But tt :- I - ad will make good my wo: 

This insolence may cost him soon 






CHARACTER "T ACHILLES 145 

vhom the blue-ey*d Goddess thus r-plied: 345 

14 From Heav'n I came, to curb., if thou wilt fa 
Thy fury: s^nt by Jul ;een, 

r e both alii: 
ise. then, these broils, and draw not thus thy sword; 
In words, indeed, assail him a- ilt. 250 

But this I promise, and will make it good, 
The time shall come, when for this insolence 
A threefold compensate n -hall be thine, 
Only be - y me and curb thy wrath." 

r'd thus Achilles, swift of foot: 255 

s most yield :: youi rommands 
Indignant though I be — for so 'tis best; 
Who hears the Gods, of them his pray'rs are heard." 

He said: and on the silvei hilt he -:ay'd 
His pow'rful hand, and flung his mighty sword 260 

Back to its scabbard, to Minerva's word 
Obe lien! she her heavnward course pursued 
To join th' Immortals in th' abode of Jove. 
But Pell undiminished wrath, 

tea thus er words addi— 265 

" Thou eye of dog. and heart of deer! 

Who never dar'st to lead in armed fight 
Th" assembled host, doi witfi a chosen few 
To man the secret ambush — to thy fears 
Apparent Death — no doubt "tis easier far 270 

Achilles pun- Girt with thy troops, to plunder of his right 
memnon^ith Who'd may venture to oppose thy will! 
word=. A tyrant King, because thou rul'st o'er slave- 

Were it not s suit were thy last. 

Bat this I say. and with an oath confirm, 2 75 

By this my royal staff, which aevei more 
Shall put forth leaf nor spray, since first it left 
Upon the mountain-side its parent stem, 
Nor blossom more: since all around the axe 
Hath lopp'd both leaf and bark, and now 'tis borne 2 SO 
Emblem of justice, by the sons of Greece, 
Who guard the sacred ministry of law 



146 the world's literature 

Before the face of Jove! a mighty oath! 

The time shall come, when all the sons of Greece 

Shall mourn Achilles' loss; and thou the while, 285 

Heart-rent, shalt be all-impotent to aid, 

When by the warrior-slayer Hector*s hand 

Many shall fall; and then thy soul shall mourn 

The slight on Grecia's bravest warrior cast." 

Thus spoke Pelides;* and upon the ground 290 

He cast his staff, with golden studs emboss'd, 
And took his seat; on th' other side in wrath, 
Nestor en- Atrides burn'd; but Nestor interpos'd; 

deavors to re- . 

store peace. ]N estor, the leader of the Pylian host, 

The smooth-tongued chief, from whose persuasive lips 

Sweeter than honey flowed the stream of speech. 296 

Two generations of the sons of men 

For him were past and gone, who with himself 

Were born and bred on Pylos' lovely shore, 

And o'er the third he now held royal sway. 300 

He thus with prudent words the chiefs address'd: 

"Alas, alas! what grief is this for Greece! 
What joy for Priam and for Priam's sons! 
What exultation for the men of Troy, 
To hear of feuds 'tween you, of all the Greeks 305 

The first in counsel, and the first in fight! 
Yet, hear my words, I pray; in years, at least, 
Ye both must yield to me; and in times past 
I liv'd with men, and they despis'd me not, 
Abler in counsel, greater than yourselves. 310 

Such men I never saw, and ne'er shall see, 
As Pirithous and Dryas, wise and brave, 
Cceneus, Exadius, godlike Polypheme, 
And Theseus, iEgeus' more than mortal son. 
The mightiest they among the sons of men; 315 

The mightiest they, and of the forest beasts 
Strove with the mightiest, and their rage subdued. 
With them from distant lands, from Pylos' shore 

*Pelides, the son of Peleus, Achilles. 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES 147 

I join'd my forces, and their call obey'd; 
With them I play'd my part: with them, not one 320 

Would dare to fight of mortals now on earth. 
Yet they my counsels heard, my voice obey'd: 
And hear ye also, for my words are wise. 
Nor thou, though great thou be, attempt to rob 
Achilles of his prize, but let him keep 325 

The spoil assign 'd him by the sons of Greece; 
Nor thou, Pelides, with the monarch strive 
In rivalry; for ne'er to sceptred King 
Hath Jove such pow'rs. as to Atrides. given: 
And valiant though thou art. and Goddess-born. 330 

Yet mightier he, for wider is his sway. 
Atrides, curb thy wrath! while I beseech 
Achilles to forbear; in whom the Greeks 
From adverse war their great defender see." 
To whom the monarch, Agamemnon, thus: 
" O father, full of wisdom are thy words; 

Agamemnon ,-..., ,i * , -. 

replies to But this proud chief o'er ail would domineer: 

Nestor. 

O'er all he seeks to rule, o'er all to reign, 
To all to dictate; which I will not bear. 
Grant that the Gods have giv'n him warlike might. 340 
Gave they unbridled license to his tongue? " 
To whom Achilles, interrupting, thus: 
1 ' Coward and slave indeed I might be deem'd, 
Could I submit to make thy word my law; 
To others thy commands; seek not to me 345 

To dictate, for I follow thee no more. 
But hear me speak, and j>onder what I say: 
For the fair girl I fight not (since you choose 
To take away the prize yourselves bestow'd) 
With thee or any one; but of the rest 350 

My dark swift ship contains, against my will 
On nought shalt thou, unpunish'd, lay thy hand. 
Make trial if thou wilt, that these may know; 
Thy life-blood soon should reek upon my spear." 

After this conflict keen of angry speech, 355 

The chiefs arose, the assembly was dispers'd. 



148 the world's literature 

With his own followers, and Menoetius' son. 
Achilles to his tents and ships withdrew. 
But Atreus' son launched a swift-sailing bark, 
With twenty rowers mann'd, and plac'd on board 360 

The sacred hecatomb; then last embark'd 
Achmes with- ^"he fair Chryseis, and in chief command 
draws. Laertes' son, the sage Ulysses, plac'd. 

They swiftly sped along the wat'ry way. 

Next, proclamation through the camp was made 365 
To purify the host; and in the sea, 
Obedient to the word, they purified; 
Then to Apollo solemn rites perform'd 
With faultless hecatombs of bulls and goats, 
Upon the margin of the wat'ry waste; 370 

And, wreath'd in smoke, the savor rose to Heav'n. 

The camp thus occupied, the King pursued 
His threaten'd plan of vengeance; to his side 
Calling Talthybius and Eurybates, 
Heralds, and faithful followers, thus he spoke: 375 

"Haste to Achilles' tent, and in your hand 
Back with you thence the fair Briseis bring; 
If he refuse to send her, I myself 
With a sufficient force will bear her thence, 
Which he may find, perchance, the worse for him." 380 

So spake the monarch, and with stern command 

Dismiss'd them; with reluctant steps they pass'd 

Agamemnon - 

sends for the Along the margin of the wat ry waste, 

Till to the tents and ships they came, where lay 
The warlike Myrmidons. Their chief they found 385 
Sitting beside his tent and dark-ribb'd ship. 
Achilles mark'd their coming, not well pleas'd: 
With troubled mien, and awe- struck by the King, 
They stood, nor dar'd accost him; but himself 
Divin'd their errand, and address'd them thus: 390 

' ' Welcome, ye messengers of Gods and men, 
Heralds! approach in safety; not with you, 
But with Atrides, is my just offence, 
Who for the fair Briseis sends you here. 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES 149 

Go, then, Patroclus, bring the maiden forth, 395 

And give her to their hands; but witness ye, 

Before the blessed Gods and mortal men, 

And to the face of that injurious King, 

When he shall need my arm, from shameful rout 

To save his followers; blinded by his rage, 400 

He neither heeds experience of the past, 

Nor scans the future, provident how best 

To guard his fleet and army from the foe." 

He spoke; obedient to his friend and chief, 
Patroclus led the fair Briseis forth, 405 

Achmes gives And gave her to their hands; they to the ships 

up the captive. R etrac ' d their stepS; and with them the f air gir ] 

Reluctant went; meanwhile Achilles, plung'd 

In bitter grief, from all the band apart, 

Upon the margin of the hoary sea 410 

Sat idly gazing on the dark-blue waves; 

And to his Goddess-mother long he pray'd, 

With outstretch'd hands, "Oh, mother! since thy son 

To early death by destiny is doomed, 

I might have hop'd tlie Thunderer on high, 415 

Olympian Jove, with honor would have crown'd 

My little space; but now disgrace is mine; 

Since Agamemnon, the wide-ruling King, 

Hath wrested from me, and still holds, my prize.-' 
Weeping, he spoke; his Goddess-mother heard, 420 

Beside her aged father where she sat 

In the deep ocean-caves: ascending quick 

Through the dark waves, like to a misty cloud, 
Thetis visits Beside her son she sat; and as he wept 
her son. g^g gently touched him with her hand, and said, 425 

' • Why weeps my son ? and whence his cause of grief ? 

Speak out, that I may hear, and share thy pain.'' 
To whom Achilles, swift of foot, replied, 

Groaning, " Thou know'st; what boots to tell thee all? 
Achmes teiis On Thebes we march'd, Eetion's sacred town, 430 

his troubles to 

his mother. And storm'd the walls, and hither bore the spoil. 
The spoils were fairly by the sons of Greece 



150 the world's literature 

Apportion'd out; and to Atrides' share 
The beauteous daughter of old Chryses fell. 
Chryses, Apollo's priest, to free his child, 433 

Came to th' encampment of the brass-clad Greeks, 
With costly ransom charg'd; and in his hand 
The sacred fillet of his God he bore, 
And golden staff; to all he sued, but chief 
To Atreus' sons, twin captains of the host. 440 

Then through the ranks assenting murmurs ran, 
The priest to rev'rence, and the ransom take: 
Not so Atrides; he, with haughty mien 
And bitter words, the trembling sire dismiss'd. 
The old man turn'd in sorrow; but his pray'r 445 

Phoebus Apollo heard, who lov'd him well. 
Against the Greeks he bent his fatal bow, 
And fast the people fell; on ev'ry side 
Throughout the camp the heav'nly arrows flew; 
A skilful seer at length the cause reveal'd 450 

Wh} 7 thus incens'd the Archer-God; I then, 
The first, gave counsel to appease his wrath. 
Whereat Atrides, full of fury, rose, 
And utter'd threats, which he hath now fulfill'd. 
For Chryses' daughter to her native land 455 

In a swift-sailing ship the keen-ey'd Greeks 
Have sent, with costly oifrings to the God : 
But her, assign'd me by the sons of Greece, 
Brises' fair daughter, from my tent e'en now 
The heralds bear away. Then, Goddess, thou, 460 

If thou hast pow'r, protect thine injur'd son. 
Fly to Olympus, to the feet of Jove, 
And make thy pray'r to him, if on his heart 
Thou hast in truth, by word or deed, a claim. 
For T remember, in my fathers house, 465 

I oft have heard thee boast, how thou, alone, 

Achilles prays __ ._ , , _ _ rt . _ _ 

his mother to Of all th Immortals, Saturn s cloud-girt son 

aid him. 

Didst shield from foul disgrace, when all the rest, 
Juno, and Neptune, and Minerva join'd, 
Wjth chains to bind him; then, O Goddess, thou, 470 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES 151 

Didst set him free, invoking to his aid 
Him of the hundred arms, whom Briareus 
Th' immortal Gods, and men ^Egeon call. 
He, mightier than his father, took his seat 
By Saturn's son, in pride of conscious strength : 475 

Fear seiz'd on all the Gods, nor did they dare 
To bind their King : of this remind him now, 
And clasp his knees, and supplicate his aid 
For Troy's brave warriors, that the routed Greeks 
Back to their ships with slaughter ma} T be driv'n : 480 
That all may taste the folly of their King, 
And Agamemnon's haughty self may mourn 
The slight on Grecia's bravest warrior cast." 
Thus he ; and Thetis, weeping, thus replied : 
"Alas, m} 7 child, that e'er I gave thee birth ! 485 

Would that beside thy ships thou could'st remain 
From grief exempt, and insult ! since by fate 
Few years are thine, and not a lengthened term ; 
Thetis condoles At once to early death and sorrows doom'd 

with her son. BeyQnd the }o { of maR j jn eyi] hour 490 

I gave thee birth ! But to the snow-clad heights 

Of great Olympus, to the throne of Jove, 

Who wields the thunder, thy complaints I bear. 

Thou by thy ships, meanwhile, against the Greeks 

Thine anger nurse, and from the fight abstain. 495 

For Jove is to a solemn banquet gone 

Beyond the sea, on ^Ethiopia's shore, 

Since yesternight ; and with him all the Gods. 

On the twelfth day he purpos'd to return 

To high Olympus ; thither then will I, 500 

And in his brass-paved mansion clasp his knees. 

And urge my suit ; nor, as I think, in vain," 

This said, she disappear'd ; and left him there 
Musing in anger on the lovely form 
Torn from his arms by violence away. 505 

Meantime, Ulysses, with his sacred freight, 
Arrived at Chrysa's strand ; and when his bark 
Had reach'd the shelter of the deep sea bay, 



152 

Their sails they fuiTd, and lower'd to the hold ; 
Slack'd the retaining shrouds, and quickly struck 510 

And stow'd away the mast ; then with their sweeps 
uiysses makes Puil'd for the beach, and cast their anchors out, 
ApTifr^Aga- And made her fast with cables to the shore. 
Then on the shingly breakwater themselves 
They landed, and the sacred hecatomb 515 

To great Apollo ; and Chryseis last. 
Her to the altar straight Ulysses led, 
The wise in counsel ; in her father's hand 
He plac'd the maiden, and address'd him thus : 
' ' Chryses, from Agamemnon, king of men, 520 

To thee I come, thy daughter to restore ; 
And to thy God, upon the Greeks' behalf, 
To offer sacrifice, if haply so 
We may appease his wrath, who now incens'd 
With grievous suff'ring visits all our host." 525 

Then to her sire he gave her; he with joy 
Receiv'd his child; the sacred hecatomb 
Around the well-built altar for the God 
In order due they plac'd; their hands then washed, 
And the salt cake prepar'd, before them all 530 

With hands uplifted Chryses pray'd aloud: 

' 'Hear me, God of the silver bow! whose care 
Chrysa surrounds, and Cilia's lovely vale, 
Whose sovereign sway o'er Tenedos extends ! 
Once hast thou heard my pray'r, aveng'd my cause, 535 
And pour'd thy fury on the Grecian host. 
Hear yet again, and grant what now I ask; 
Withdraw thy chast'ning hand, and stay the plague." 

Thus as he pray'd, his pray'r Apollo heard. 
Their pray'rs concluded, and the salt cake strew'd 540 
The wrath of Upon the victims' heads, they drew them back, 
peased. h And slew, and flay'd; then cutting from the thighs 

The choicest pieces, and in double layers 
O'erspreading them with fat, above them plac'd 
The due meat-off 'rings; then the aged priest 545 

The cleft wood kindled, and libations pour'd 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES 153 

Of ruddy wine; arm'd with the five-fork'd prongs 
Th' attendant ministers beside him stood. 
The thighs consum'd with fire, the inward parts 
They tasted first; the rest upon the spits 550 

Roasted with care, and from the fire withdrew. 
Their labors ended, and the feast prepar'd, 
They shared the social meal, nor lack'd there aught. 
But when their thirst and hunger were appeased, 
Th' attendant youths the flowing goblets crown'd, 555 
And in fit order serv'd the cups to all. 
All day they sought the favor of the God, 
The glorious paeans chanting, and the praise 
Of Phoebus: he, well pleased, the strain recelv'd. 
But when the sun was set, and shades of night 560 

O'erspread the sky, upon the sandy beach 
Close to their ship they laid them down to rest, 
uiysses re- And wnen the rosy-finger'd morn appear'd, 
turns. Back to the camp they took their homeward way. 

A fav'ring breeze the Far-destroyer sent: 565 

They stepp'd the mast, and spread the snowy sail: 
Full in the midst the bellying sail receiv'd 
The gallant breeze; and round the vessel's prow 
The dark waves loudly roar'd, as on she rush'd 
Skimming the seas, and cut her wat'ry way. 570 

Arriv'd where lay the wide-spread host of Greece, 
Their dark-ribbed vessel on the beach they drew 
High on the sand, and strongly shor'd her up; 
Then through the camp they took their sev'ral ways. 

Meantime, beside the ships Achilles sat, 575 

The Heav'n-born son of Peleus, swift of foot, 
Chafing with rage repress'd; no more he sought 
The honor'd council, nor the battle-field; 
But wore his soul away, and inly pin'd 
For the fierce joy and tumult of the fight. 580 

But when the twelfth revolving day was come, 
Thetis goes to Back to Olympus' heights th' immortal Gods, 
pus^nbiSSf Jove at their head, together all return'd. 
of her son. Then Thetis> m i n( jf u i f her son's request, 



154 the world's literature 

•Rose from the ocean wave, and sped in haste 585 

To high Campus, and the courts of Heav'n. 
Th' all-seeing son of Saturn there she found 
Sitting apart upon the topmost crest 
Of many-ridg'd Olympus; at his feet 
She sat, and while her left hand clasp'd his knees, 590 
Her right approached his beard, and suppliant thus 
She made her pray'r to Saturn's royal son: 
1 ■ Father, if e'er amid th' immortal Gods 
By word or deed I did thee service true, 
Hear now my pray'r! Avenge my hapless son, 595 

Of mortals shortest-liv'd, insulted now 
By mighty Agamemnon, King of men. 
And plunder'd of his lawful spoils of war. 
The interview But Jove, Olympian, Lord of counsel, Thou 

of Jove and 

Thetis. Avenge his cause; and give to Trojan arms 600 

Such strength and pow'r that Greeks may learn how much 
They need my son, and give him honor due." 

She said: the Cloud-compeller answer'd not, 
But silent sat; then Thetis clasp'd his knees, 
And hung about him, and her suit renew'd: 605 

' ' Give me thy promise sure, thy gracious nod, 
Or else refuse (for thou hast none to fear), 
That I may learn, of all th' immortal Gods, 
How far I stand the lowest in thine eyes." 
Then, much disturb'd, the Cloud-compeller spoke: 610 
" Sad work thou mak'st, in bidding me oppose 
My will to Juno's, when her bitter words 
Assail me; for full oft amid the Gods 
She taunts me, that I aid the Trojan cause. 
But thou return, that Juno see thee not, 615 

And leave to me the furtherance of thy suit. 
Lo, to confirm thy faith, I nod my head; 
And well among th' immortal Gods is known 
The solemn import of that pledge from me; 
For ne'er my promise shall deceive, or fail, 620 

Or be recalFd, if with a nod confirmed." 

He said, and nodded with his shadowy brows; 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES 155 

Jove's promise Wav'd on th' immortal head th' ambrosial locks, 
to Thetis. And all oiympus trembled at his nod. * 

They parted thus: from bright Olympus' heights 623 

The Goddess hasted to her ocean-caves, 

Jove to his palace; at his entrance all 

Rose from their seats at once; not one presum'd 

To wait his coming, but advanc'd to meet. 

Then on his throne he sat; but not unmark'd 630 

Of Juno's eye had been the council held 

In secret with the silver-footed Queen, 

The daughter of the aged Ocean-God; 

And with sharp words she thus addressed her Lord: 

' ' Tell me, deceiver, who was she with whom 635 

Juno rebukes Thou late held'st council ? ever 'tis thy way 
zeus. Apart from me to weave thy secret schemes, 

Nor dost thou freely share with me thy mind." 
To whom the Sire of Gods and men replied: 
" Expect not, Juno, all my mind to know; 640 

My wife thou art, yet would such knowledge be 

Too much for thee; whate'er I deem it fit 

That thou shouldst know, nor God nor man shall hear 

Before thee; but what I in secret plan 

Seek not to know, nor curiously inquire." 645 

Whom answer'd thus the stag-ey'd Queen of Heav'n: 
" What words, dread son of Saturn, dost thou speak? 

Ne'er have I sought, or now, or heretofore, 

Thy secret thoughts to know; what thou think'st fit 

To tell, I wait thy gracious will to hear. 650 

Yet fear I in my soul thou are beguil'd 

By wiles of Thetis, silver-footed Queen, 

The daughter of the aged Ocean-God ; 

For she was with thee early, and embrac'd 

Thy knees, and has, I think, thy promise sure, 655 

*Upon the strength of this promise depends the length of the 
Iliad as well as the varying fortunes of the war. The promise to 
see Achilles avenged stands up to the twentieth book, when Jove, 
seeing it fulfilled, withdraws his interest, allowing the gods to 
fight on whichever side best pleases them. All through the Iliad 
one feels the power of this promise as a controlling force. 



156 

Thou wilt avenge Achilles' cause, and bring 
Destructive slaughter on the Grecian host." 
To whom the Cloud-compeller thus replied : 

11 Presumptuous, to thy busy thoughts thou giv'st 
Too free a range, and watchest all I do; 660 

Yet shalt thou not prevail, but rather thus 
Be alien'd from my heart — the worse for thee ! 
If this be so, it is my sov'reign will. 
But now, keep silence, and my words obey, 
Lest all th' Immortals fail, if I be wroth, 665 

To rescue thee from my resistless hand." 

He said, and terror seiz'd the stag-ey'd Queen : 
Silent she sat, curbing her spirit down, 
And all the Gods in pitying sorrow mourn'd. 
Vulcan, the skill'd artificer, then first 670 

vuican soothes Broke silence, and with soothing words address'd 
His mother, Juno, white- arm'd Queen of Heav'n: 

' ; Sad were % indeed, and grievous to be borne, 
If for the sake of mortal men you two 
Should suffer angry passions to arise, 675 

And kindle broils in Heav'n ; so should our feast 
By evil influence all its sweetness lack. 
Let me advise my mother (and I know 
That her own reason will my words approve) 
To speak my father fair; lest he again 680 

Reply in anger, and our banquet mar. 
For Jove, the lightning's Lord, if such his will, 
Might hurl us from our seats (so great his pow'r); 
But thou address him still with gentle words ; 
So shall his favour soon again be ours. " 685 

This said, he rose, and in his mother's hand 
A double goblet plac'd, as thus he spoke : 

"Have patience, mother mine ! though much enforc'd, 
Restrain thy spirit, lest perchance these eyes, 
Dear as thou art, behold thee brought to shame ; 690 

And I, though griev'd in heart, be impotent 
To save thee; for 'tis hard to strive with Jove. 
When to thy succor once before I came, 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES 157 

He seiz'd me by the foot, and hmTd me down 

From Heav'n's high threshold ; all the day I fell, 695 

And with the setting sun on Lemnos' isle 

Lighted, scarce half alive ; there was I found, 

And by the Sintian people kindly nurs'd." 

Thus as he spoke, the white-arm'd Goddess smil'd. 
And, smiling, from his hand receiv'd the cup. 700 

Then to th' Immortals all, in order due, 
He minister'd, and from the flagon pour'd 
The luscious nectar ; while among the Gods 
Rose laughter irrepressible, at sight 
Of Vulcan hobbling round the spacious hall. 705 

Thus they till sunset pass'd the festive hours ; 
Nor lack'd the banquet aught to please the sense, 
Nor sound of tuneful lyre, by Phoebus touch'd, 
Nor Muses' voice, who in alternate strains 
Responsive sang: but when the sun had set, 710 

Each to his home departed, where for each 
The crippled Vulcan, matchless architect, 
With wondrous skill a noble house had rear'd. 

To his own couch, where he was wont of old, 
When overcome by gentle sleep, to rest, 71 5 

Olympian Jove ascended ; there he slept, 
And, by his side, the golden-throned Queen. 718 



158 the world's literature 



CHAPTER VII. 

The Character of Achilles Continued. 
All that night Jupiter pondered how to avenge the 
cause of Achilles and chose, as the wisest course, to send 
a deluding vision in the form of Nestor, to mislead 
Agamemnon, in consequence of which that king pro- 
posed a retreat to the Grecian army. The proposal 
sounded agreeable to the warriors who had so long been 
exiled from home, and was received with cheers. When 
Juno on the Olympian heights saw this she was filled 
with rage and sent Pallas to influence Ulysses to shame 
them out of such thoughts. His eloquence prevailed, 
and the two contending armies were soon ready for bat- 
tle, but Paris proposed to decide the contest by a duel 
with Menelaus. As he was about to be overcome by 
Menelaus, Venus snatched him from the danger, hidden 
by clouds, and bore him away. The battle became gen- 
eral, the Grecians getting the upper hand; even the god 
of war, Mars, was wounded and sent groaning to heaven 
by a brave Greek. ^Seeing the distress and failure of 
the Trojans, Hector, their greatest general, sent the 
matrons of Troy to supplicate aid from the gods, after 
which, he sallied forth to fight with Ajax in single 
combat. 

*Homer here shows himself a consummate artist. Although 
Achilles is kept in the background, the reader feels the progressive 
greatness of each new character, which will eventually culminate 
in that of Achilles. A lesser writer would have put meaner char- 
acters by the side of Achilles to make him great by contrast. 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 159 

Hector of the glancing helm 
Turned to depart; with rapid step he reached 
His own well-furnished house, but found not there 
His white-arm'd spouse, the fair Andromache. 
She with her infant child and maid the while 5 

Was standing, bath'd in tears, in bitter grief, 
On Ilion's topmost tower; but when her Lord 
Found not within the house his peerless wife, 
Upon the threshold pausing, thus he spoke: 
Hector and An- "Tell me, my maidens, tell me true, which way 10 
Your mistress went, the fair Andromache; 
Or to my sisters, or my brothers' wives? 
Or to the temple where the fair-hair'd dames 
Of Troy invoke Minerva's awful name?" 

To whom the matron of his house replied: 15 

" Hector, if truly we must answer thee, 
Not to thy sisters, nor thy brothers' wives, 
Nor to the temple where the fair-hair'd dames 
Of Troy invoke Minerva's awful name, 
But to the height of Dion's topmost tow'r 20 

Andromache is gone; since tidings came 
The Trojan force was overmatch'd, and great 
The Grecian strength; whereat, like one distract, 
She hurried to the walls, and with her took, 
Borne in the nurse's arms, her infant child." 25 

So spoke the ancient dame; and Hector straight 
Through the wide streets his rapid steps retrac'd. 
Hector seeks But when at last the mighty city's length 

Was travers'd, and the Scsean gates were reach'd, 
Whence was the outlet to the plain, in haste 30 

Running to meet him came his priceless wife, 
Eetion's daughter, fair Andromache; 
Eetion, who from Thebes Cilicia sway'd, 
Thebes, at the foot of Placos' wooded heights. 
His child to Hector of the brazen helm 35 

Was given in marriage; she it was who now 
Met him, and by her side the nurse, who bore, 
Clasp'd to her breast, his all-unconscious child, 



160 the world's liter aturp: 

Hector's lov'd infant, fair as morning star; 

Whom Hector call'd Scamandrius, but the rest 

Astyanax, in honor of his sire, 

The matchless chief, the only prop of Troy. 

Silent he smil'd as on his boy he gaz'd: 5 

But at his side Andromache, in tears, 

Hung on his arm, and thus the chief addressed: 

" Dear Lord, thy dauntless spirit will work thy doom: 
Nor hast thou pity on this thy helpless child, 
Or me forlorn, to be thy widow soon: 10 

For thee will all the Greeks with force combin'd 

4 

Assail and slay: for me, 'twere better far, 

Of thee bereft, to lie beneath the sod; 
- Nor comfort shall be mine, if thou be lost, 

But endless grief; to me nor sire is left, 15 

Nor honor 'd mother; fell Achilles' hand 

My sire Eetion slew, what time his arms 

The populous city of Cilicia raz'd, 

The lofty-gated Thebes; he slew indeed, 

But stripped him not; he reverenced the dead; 20 

And o'er his body, with his armor burnt, 

A mound erected; and the mountain nymphs, 

The progeny of aegis-bearing Jove, 

Planted around his tomb a grove of elms. 

There were sev'n brethren in my father's house; 25 

All in one day they fell, amid their herds 

And fleecy flocks, by fierce Achilles' hand. 

My mother, Queen of Placos' wooded height, 

Brought with the captives here, he soon releas'd 

For costly ransom; but by Dian's shafts 30 

She, in her father's house, was stricken down. 

But, Hector, thou to me art all in one, 

Sire, mother, brethren! thou, my wedded love! 
Andromache Then pitying us, within the tow'r remain, 
remain athome. Nor make thy child an orphan, and thy wife 35 

A hapless widow; by the fig-tree here 

Array thy troops, for here the city wall, 

Easiest of access, most invites assault. 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 161 

Thrice have their boldest chiefs this point assail'd, 
The two A j aces, brave Idomeneus, 
Th' Atridae both, the Tydeus' warlike son, 
Or by the prompting of some Heav'n taught seer, 
Or by their own advent'rous courage led/' 5 

To whom great Hector of the glancing helm: 
* ' Think not, dear wife, that by such thoughts as these 
My heart has ne'er been wrung; but I should blush 
To face the men and long-rob'd dames of Troy, 
If, like a coward, I could shun the fight 10 

Nor could my soul the lessons of my youth 
So far forget, whose boast it still has been 
In the fore-front of battle to be found, 
Charg'd with my father's glory and mine own. 
Yet in my inmost soul too well I know, 15 

The day must come when this our sacred Troy, 
rep y ' And Priam's race, and Priam's royal self, 
Shall in one common ruin be o'erthrown. 
But not the thoughts of Troy's impending fate, 
Nor Hecuba's nor royal Priam's woes, 20 

Nor loss of brethren, numerous and brave, 
By hostile hands laid prostrate in the dust, 
So deeply wring my heart as thoughts of thee, 
Thy days of freedom lost, and led away 
A weeping captive by some brass-clad Greek; 25 

Haply in Argos, at a mistress' beck, 
Condemn'd to ply the loom, or water draw 
From Hypereia's or Messeis' fount, 
Heart-wrung, by stern necessity constraint. 
Then they who see thy tears perchance may say, 30 

cLo ! this was Hector's wife, who, when they fought 
On plains of Troy, was Ilion's bravest chief. ' 
Thus may they speak; and thus thy grief renew 
For loss of him, who might have been thy shield 
To rescue thee from slav'ry's bitter hour. 35 

Oh may I sleep in dust, ere be condemn'd 
To hear thy cries, and see thee dragg'd away ! " 
Thus as he spoke, great Hector stretch'd his arms 



162 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

To take his child ; but back the infant shrank, 
Crying, and sought his nurse's shelt'ring breast, 
Scar'd by the brazen helm and horse-hair plume 
That nodded, fearful, on the warrior's crest. 
Laugh 'd the fond parents both, and from his brow 5 

Hector and his Hector the casque remov'd, and set it down, 

All glitt'ring on the ground ; then kiss'd his child. 
And danced him in his arms ; then thus to Jove 
And to th' Immortals all address'd his pray'r : 
"Grant, Jove, and all ye Gods, that this my son 10 

May be, as I, the foremost man of Troy, 
For valour fam'd, his country's guardian King ; 
That men may say, ' This youth surpasses far 
His father, ' when they see him from the fight, 
From slaughter'd foes, with bloody spoils of war 15 

Returning to rejoice his mother's heart ! " 

Thus saying, in his mother's arms he plac'd 
His child ; she to her fragrant bosom clasp'd, 
Smiling through tears ; with eyes of pit}' ing love 
Hector beheld, and press'd her hand, and thus 20 

Address'd her — " Dearest, wring not thus my heart ! 
For till my day of destiny is come, 
No man may take my life ; and when it comes 
Nor brave nor coward can escape that day. 
But go thou home, and ply thy household cares, 25 

The loom and distaff, and appoint thy maids 
Their sev'ral tasks ; and leave to men of Troy 
And, chief of all, tome, the toils of war." 
Great Hector said, and rais'd his plumed helm. 

And homeward, slow, with oft-reverted eyes, 30 

Andromache ^ 

returns to her Shedding hot tears his sorrowing wife return/d. 
Arrived at valiant Hector's well-built house 
Her maidens press'd around her; and in all 
Arose at once the sympathetic grief. 

For Hector, yet alive, his household mourn'd, 35 

Deeming he never would again return, 
Safe from the fight by Grecian hands unharnYd. 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 163 

The fight between Ajax and Hector was declared a 
drawn battle, which so discomfited the Grecian army 
that it retreated, and Hector prepared to attack the en- 
emy's camp. " Worn out with the losses of war, 
Agamemnon has at last humbled his pride and sent the 
wisest of the chiefs, silver-tongued Ulysses and Phoenix, 
the old guardian of the son of Peleus, to beg Achilles 
to receive back Briseis, and to take great gifts if only 
he will relax his wrath. But Achilles remains inflexi- 
ble. In order to maintain the firmness of his character, 
to justify the righteousness of his indignation, Homer 
cannot suffer him to abandon his resentment at the first 
entreaty. Some more potent influence must break his 
resolution than the mere offer to restore Briseis. 
Homer has the death of Patroclus " in the background." 
To the entreaties of Ulysses, Achilles replies: 

Achilles' reply ' ' Heav'n-born Ulysses, sage in council, son 
to uiysses. q_£ g Tea t Laertes, I must frankly speak 

My mind at once, my fix'd resolve declare: 

That from henceforth I may not by the Greeks, 

By this man and by that, be importun'd. 5 

Him as the gates of Hell my soul abhors, 

Whose outward speech his secret thought belies. 

Hear, then, what seems to me the wisest course. 

On me nor Agamemnon, Atreus' son. 

Nor others shall prevail, since naught is gained 10 

By toil unceasing in the battle field. 

Who nobly fight, but share with those who skulk; 

Like honors gain the coward and the brave; 

Alike the idlers and the active die: 

And nought it profits me, though day by day 15 

In constant toil I set my life at stake; 

But as a bird, though ill she fare herself, 

Brings to her callow brood the food she takes, 



164 the world's literature 

So I through many a sleepless night have lain, 
And many a bloody day have labor'd through, 
Engag'd in battle on your wives' behalf. 
Twelve cities have I taken with my ships; 
Eleven more by land, on Trojan soil; 5 

From all of these abundant stores of wealth 
I took, and all to Agamemnon gave; 
He, safe beside his ships, my spoils receiv'd, 
A few divided, but the most retain'd. 
To other chiefs and Kings he meted out 10 

Their several portions, and they hold them still; 
From me, from me alone of all the Greeks, 
He bore away, and keeps my cherish'd slave. 
But say, then, why do Greeks with Trojans fight? 
Why hath Atrides brought this mighty host 15 

To Troy, if not in fair-hair'd Helen's cause? 
Of mortals are there none that love their wives, 
Save Atreus' sons alone ? or do not all, 
Of upright hearts and minds well-order'd, love 
And cherish each his own ? as her I lov'd 20 

E'en from my soul, though captive of my spear. 
AcMiies rejects Now, since he once hath robb'd me, and deceiv'd. 

the overtures. T j. i • " -i • t t i i • 

Let him not seek my aid; I know him now. 
And am not to be won; let him devise 
With thee, Ulysses, and the other Kings, 25 

How best from hostile fires to save his ships. 
He hath engag'd in works of labor vast 
Without my aid; hath built a lofty wall, 
And dug a trench around it, wide and deep, 
And in the trench hath fix'd a palisade; 30 

Nor so the warrior-slayer Hector's might 
Can keep in check; while I was in the field, 
Not far without the walls would Hector range 
His line of battle, nor beyond the Oak 
And Scsean gates would venture; there indeed 35 

He once presumed to meet me, hand to hand, 
And from my onset narrowly escap'd. 
But as with Hector now no more I fight, 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 165 

To-morrow morn, my off' rings made to Jove, 

And all the Gods, and freighted well my ships, 

And launch'd upon the main, thyself shall see. 

If that thou care to see, my vessels spread 

O'er the broad bosom of the Hellespont, 5 

My lusty crews plying the vig'rous oar; 

And if th' Earth-shaker send a f av'ring breeze, 

Three days will bear us home to Phthia's shore. 

There did I leave abundant store of wealth, 

"When hither ward I took my luckless way; 10 

And thither hence shall bear, of ruddy gold, 

And brass, and women fair, and iron hoar 

The share assign'd me; but my chief est prize 

The monarch Agamemnon, Atreus' son, 

Himself who gave, with insult takes away. 15 

To him then speak aloud the words I send, 

That other Greeks may like resentment feel, 

If yet he hopes some other to defraud. 

Cloth'd as he is in shamelessness! my glance, 

All brazen though he be, he dare not meet. 20 

I share no more his counsels, nor his acts; 

He hath deceiv'd me once, and wrong'd; again 

He shall not cozen me ! Of him enough ! 

I pass him by, whom Jove hath robb'd of sense. 

His gifts I loathe, and spurn; himself I hold 25 

At a hair's worth; and would he proffer me 

Tenfold or twentyfold of all he has, 

Or ever may be his; or all the gold 

Sent to Orchomenos or royal Thebes, 

Egyptian treasurehouse of countless wealth, 30 

Who boasts her hundred gates, through each of which 

With horse and car two hundred Avarriors march: 

Nay, were his gifts in number as the sand, 

Or dust upon the plain, yet ne'er will I 

By Agamemnon be prevail'd upon, 35 

Till all his galling insults be repaid. 

Nor e'er of Agamemnon, Atreus' son, 

Will I a daughter wed; not were she fair 



166 the world's literature 

As golden Venus, and in works renown'd 

As Pallas, blue-ey'd Maid, yet her e'en so 

I wed not; let him choose some other Greek, 

Some fitting match, of nobler blood than mine. 

But should the Gods in safety bring me home, 5 

At Peleus' hands I may receive a wife; 

And Greece can boast of many a lovely maid, 

In Hellas or in Phthia, daughters fair 

Of chiefs who hold their native fortresses: 

Of these, at will, a wife I may select: 10 

And oft times hath my warlike soul inclin'd 

To take a wedded wife, a fitting bride, 

And aged Peleus' wealth in peace enjoy. 

For not the stores which Troy, they say, contained 

In peaceful times, ere came the sons of Greece, 15 

Nor all the treasures which Apollo's shrine, 
• The Archer-God, in rock-built Py thos holds, 

May weigh with life; of oxen and of sheep 

Successful forays may good store provide; 

And tripods may be gained, and noble steeds; 20 

But when the breath of man hath pass'd his lips, 

Nor strength nor foray can the loss repair. 

I by my Goddess-mother have been warn'd, 
Achilles speaks The silver-footed Thetis, that o'er me 
pendf/goVer 1 " A double chance of destiny impends: 25 

him - If here remaining, round the walls of Troy 

I wage the war, I ne'er shall see my home, 

But then undying glory shall be mine: 

If I return, and see my native land, 

My glory all is gone; but length of life 30 

Shall then be mine, and death be long deferr'd. 

If others ask'd my counsel, I should say, 

Homeward direct your course; of lofty Troy 

Ye see not yet the end; all-seeing Jove 

O'er her extends his hand; on him retying 36 

Her people all with confidence are fill'd.' 

Go then; and faithfully, as envoys should, 

Bear back my answer to the chiefs of Greece. 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 167 

Bid that some better counsel they devise 
To save their ships and men; their present scheme, 
My anger unappeas'd. avails them nought. 
But Phoenix here shall stay, and sleep to-night: 
And with the morrow he with me shall sail 5 

And seek our native land, if so he will, 
, For not by force will I remove him hence." 

Phoenix, the beloved old tutor of Achilles, remained 
while the other chiefs, sorrowing at their ill success, re- 
turned to the camp, where their message was received 
with dismay. To cheer the army and revive their cour- 
age, Ulysses and Diomedes sallied forth by night and 
made an attack on the Trojans, gaining many small suc- 
cesses; but when morning came there followed new dis- 
asters for the Greeks. Achilles, watching from the 
lofty prow of his ship, saw the rout and ruin to his 
countrymen, and sent Patroclus to inquire which of the 
Greeks was wounded, when Nestor urged him in most 
persuasive manner to don the armor of Achilles and 
join them in the conflict. The Trojans pressed on to 
victory, forcing open the gates of the Grecian ramparts 
and pursuing them to their ships. The battle continued 
with great slaughter on both sides, until the Trojans, in 
their exultation, prepared to set fire to the Grecian 
camp. 

Thus round the well-mann'd ship they wag'd the war: 
Patroclus fears Meanwhile by Peleus' son Patroclus stood, 
tor the Greeks. y^ ee pi n g hot tears; as some dark-water'd fount 
Pours o'er a craggy rock its gloomy stream; 
Achilles, swift of foot, with pity saw. 5 

And to his friend these winged words address'd: 

l * Why weeps Patroclus, like an infant girl, 
That prays her mother, by whose side she runs, 
To take her up; and, clinging to her gown, 



168 the world's literature 

Impedes her wa}^, and still with tearful eyes 
Looks in her face, until she take her up? 
Ev'n as that girl, Patroclus, such art thou, 
Shedding soft tears: hast thou some tidings brought 
Touching the gen'ral weal, or me alone ? 5 

Or have some evil news from Phthia come, 
Known but to thee ? Mencetius, Actor's son, « 

Yet surely lives;, and 'mid his Myrmidons 
Lives aged Peleus, son of iEacus: 

Their deaths indeed might well demand our tears: 10 

Or weep'st thou for the Greeks, who round their ships 
By death their former insolence repay ? 
Speak out, that I may know thy cause of grief. " 
To whom, with bitter groans, Patroclus thus: 
* O son of Peleus, noblest of the Greeks, 15 

Patroclus in- Achilles, be not wroth ! such weight of woe 

tercedes. The Grecian camp oppresses; in their ships 

They who were late their bravest and their best, 
Sore wounded all by spear or arrow lie; 
The valiant son of Tydeus, Diomed, 20 

Pierc'd by a shaft, Ulysses by a spear, 
And Agamemnon's self; Eurypylus 
By a sharp arrow through the thigh transfix'd; 
For these, the large resources of their art 
The leeches ply, and on their wounds attend; 25 

While thou, Achilles, still remain'st unmov'd. 
Oh, be it never mine to nurse such hate 
As thou retain 'st, inflexibly severe! 
Who e'er may hope in future days by thee 
To profit, if thou now forbear to save 30 

Patroclus re- The Greeks from shame and loss? Unfeeling man! 

bukes Achmes. g ure p e leus, horseman brave, was ne'er thy sire, 
Nor Thetis bore thee; from the cold gray sea 
And craggy rocks thou hadst thy birth; so hard 
And stubborn is thy soul. But if the fear 35 

Of evil prophesied thyself restrain, 
Or message by thy Goddess-mother brought 
From Jove, yet send me forth with all thy force 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 169 

Of Myrmidons, to be the saving light 

Of Greece; and let me to the battle bear 

Thy glitt'ring arms, if so the men of Troy, 

Scared by thy likeness, may forsake the field, 

And breathing-time afford the sons of Greece, 5 

Toil-worn; for little pause has yet been theirs. 

Fresh and unwearied, we may drive with ease 

To their own city, from our ships and tents, 

The Trojans, worn and battle-wearied men." 

Thus pray'd he, all unwisely; for the pray'r 10 

He utter'd, to himself was fraught with death; 
To whom, much griev'd. Achilles, swift of foot: 
1 Heav'n-born Patroclus, oh, what words are these! 
Prophetic warnings move me not, though known; 
Nor message hath my mother brought from Jove: 15 

But it afflicts my soul, when one I see 
That basely robs his equal of his prize, 
His lawful prize, by highest valor won; 
Such grief is mine, such wrong have I sustain'd. 
Her, whom the sons of Greece on me bestow'd, 20 

Prize of my spear, the well-wall'd city storm'd, 
The mighty Agamemnon, Atreus' son, 
Hath borne by force away, as from the hands 
Of some dishonor'd, houseless vagabond. 
But let the past be past; I never meant 25 

My wrath should have no end: yet had not thought 
My anger to abate, till my own ships 
Should hear the war-cry. and the battle bear. 
But go, and in my well-known armor clad. 
Lead forth the valiant Myrmidons to war, 30 

Since the dark cloud of Trojans circles round 
The ships in force; and on the shingly beach, 
Pent up in narrow limits, lie the Greeks; 
And all the city hath pour'd its numbers forth 
In hope undoubting; for they see no more 35 

My helm among them flashing; else in flight 
Their dead would choke the streams, if but to me 
Great Agamemnon bore a kindly mind: 



1*70 the world's literature 

But round the camp the battle now is wag'd. 

No more the hands of valiant Diomed, 

The Greeks protecting, hurl his fiery spear; 

Nor hear I now, from his detested lips, 

The shout of Agamemnon; all around 5 

Is heard the warrior-slayer Hector's voice, 

Cheering his Trojans; with triumphant cries 

They, from the vanquish'd Greeks, hold all the plain. 

Nathless do thou, Patroclus, in defence 

Fall boldly on, lest they with blazing fire 10 

Our ships destroy, and hinder our retreat. 

But hear, and ponder well the end of all 

I have to say, and so for me obtain 

Honor and glory in the eyes of Greece; 

And that the beauteous maiden to my arms 15 

They may restore, with costly gifts to boot. 

The ships reliev'd, return forthwith; and though 

The Thund'rer, Juno's Lord, should crown thine arms 

With triumph, be not rash, apart from me, 

To combat with the warlike sons of Troy; 20 

(So should my name in less repute be held;) 

Nor, in the keen excitement of the fight 

And slaughter of the Trojans, lead thy troops 

On tow'rd the city, lest thou find thyself 

By some one of th' immortal Gods oppos'd; 25 

For the far-darting Phoebus loves them well; 

But when in safety thou hast plac'd the ships, 

Delay not to return, and leave the rest 

To battle on the plain, for would to Jove, 

To Pallas and Apollo, that not one, 30 

Or Greek or Trojan might escape from death, 

Save only thou and I: that so we two 

Alone might raze the sacred tow'rs of Troy." 

Such converse held they; while by hostile spears 
Hard press'd, no longer Ajax might endure; 35 

At once by Jove's high will and Trojan foes 
O'ermaster'd; loud beneath repeated blows 
Clatter'd around his brow the glitt'ring helm. 



Character of achilles contikued 171 

As on the well-wrought crest the weapons fell; 

And his left arm grew faint, that long had borne 

The burthen of his shield; yet nought avail'd 

The press of spears to drive him from his post: 

Lab'ring he drew his breath, his ev'ry limb 5 

With sweat was reeking; breathing space was none; 

Blow follow'd blow, and ills were heap'd on ill. 

Say now, ye Nine, who on Olympus dwell. 
How first the fire assail'd the Grecian ships. 

Hector approach'd, and on the ashen spear 10 

Of Ajax. close behind the head, let fall 
His mighty sword: right through he clove the wood; 
Hector's vie- ^ n( ^ m his hand the son of Telamon 
tory over Ajax. The headless shaft held bootless; far away, 

Loud ringing, fell to earth the brazen point. 15 

Ajax, dismayed, perceived the hand of Heaven, 
And knew that Jove the Thunderer had decreed 
To thwart his hopes, and victory give to Troy. 
Slow he retir'd; and to the vessel they 
The blazing torch applied: high rose the flame 20 

Unquenchable, and wrapp'd the poop in fire. 
The son of Peleus saw, and with his palm 
Smote on his thigh, and to Patroclus call'd: 
"Up, nobly born Patroclus, car-borne chief! 
Up, for I see above the ships ascend 25 

The hostile fires; and lest they seize the ships. 
And hinder our retreat, do thou in haste 

Thine armor don. while I arouse the troops." 

A.cto.illes sends 

Patroclus to " He said: his dazzling arms Patroclus donn'd: 

the combat. . ,« ■ 

First on his legs the well-wrought greaves he fix d, 
Fasten'd with silver clasps; his ample chest 31 

The breastplate of Achilles, swift of foot, 
Star-spangled; richly wrought, defended well; 
Around his shoulders slung, his sword he bore, 
Brass-bladed, silver-studded; next his shield 35 

Weighty and strong; and on his firm-set head 
A helm he wore, well-wrought, with horsehair plume 
That nodded, fearful, o'er his brow; his hand 



172 the world's LITERATURE 

Grasp'd two stout spears, familiar to his hold. 

One spear Achilles had, long, pond'rous, tough; 

But this he touch'd not; none of all the Greeks, 

None, save Achilles' self, that spear could poise; 

The far-fam'd Pelian ash, which to his sire, 5 

On Pelian's summit fell'd, to be the bane 

Of mightiest chiefs, the Centaur Chiron gave. 

Then to Automedon he gave command 

To yoke the horses; him he honor'd most, 

Next to Achilles' self; the trustiest he 10 

In battle to await his chief's behest. 

The flying steeds he harness'd to the car, 

Xanthus and Balius, fleeter than the winds; 

Whom, grazing in the marsh by ocean's stream, 

Podarge, swift of foot, to Zephyr bore: 15 

And by their side the matchless Pedasus, 

Whom from the capture of Eetion's town 

Achilles bore away; a mortal horse, 

But with immortal coursers meet to vie. 

Meantime Achilles, through their several tents, 20 

Summon'd to arms the warlike Myrmidons. 
They all, like rav'ning wolves, of courage high, 
That on the mountain side have hunted down 
An antler'ed stag, and batten'd on his flesh: 
Their chaps all dyed with blood, in troops they go, 25 

With their lean tongues from some black-water'd fount 
To lap the surface of the dark cool wave, 
Their jaws with blood yet reeking, unsubdued 
Their courage, and their bellies gorg'd with flesh; 
So round Pelides' valiant follower throng'd 30 

The chiefs and rulers of the Myrmidons. 
Achilles in the midst to charioteers 
And buckler 'd warriors issued his commands. 

" Ye Myrmidons, forget not now the vaunts 
Which, while my wrath endur'd, ye largely pour'd 35 

Upon the Trojans; me ye freely blam'd; 
* Ill-omen'd son of Peleus, sure in wrath 
Thou wast conceiv'd, implacable, who keep'st 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 173 

Thy comrades here in idleness enforc'd! 
'Twere better far our homeward way to take, 
If such pernicious rancour fill thy soul!' 
Thus ye reproach'd me oft! Lo! now ye have 
The great occasion which your souls desir'd! 5 

Then on, and with brave hearts the Trojans meet! " 
AcMiies rouses His words fresh courage rous'd in ev'ry breast; 

And more compact, beneath their monarch's eye, 
Their ranks were form'd; as when a builder lays 
The closely-fitting stones, to form the wall 10 

Of some great house, and brave the winds of Heav'n; 
So close were fitted helm and bossy shield; 
Buckler on buckler press'd, and helm on helm, 
And man on man; the horsehair plumes above, 
That nodded, fearful, from the warriors' brows, 15 

Each other touch'd; so closely mass'd they stood. 
Before them all stood prominent in arms 
Two chiefs, Patroclus and Automedon. 
Both with one thought possess'd. to lead the fight 
In the fore-front of all the Myrmidons. 20 

Achilles then within his tent withdrew, 
And of a gorgeous coffer rais'd the lid, 
Well-wrought, by silver-footed Thetis plac'd 
On board his ship, and fill'd with rich attire, 
With store of wind-proof cloaks, and carpets soft. 25 

There lay a goblet, richly chas'd, whence none, 
But he alone, might drink the ruddy wine, 
Nor might libations thence to other Gods 
Be made, save only Jove: this brought he forth, 
And first with sulphur purified, and next 3C 

W T ash'd with pure water: then his hands he wash'd, 
And drew the ruddy wine; then standing forth 
Made in the center of the court his pray'r, 
And as he pour'd the wine, look'd up to Heav'n, 
Not unbeheld of Jove, the lightning's Lord: 35 

" Great King, Dodono's Lord, Pelasgian Jove. 
Who dwell'st on high and rul'st with sov'reign sway 
Dodona's wintry heights; where dwell around 



174 the world's literature 

Thy Sellian's priests, men of unwashen feet, 
That on the bare ground sleep; thou once before 
Hast heard my prayer, and me with honor crown'd. 
And on the Greeks inflicted all thy plagues: 
Acwiies' Hear yet again, and this my boon accord. 5 

prayer. j > m j c | tne tnTon g f ships myself remain; 

But with a num'rous force of Myrmidons 
I send my comrade in my stead to fight; 
On him, all-seeing Jove, thy favor pour; 
Strengthen his heart, that Hector's self may learn 10 

If, e'en alone my follower knows to fight, 
Or only then resistless pow'r displays, 
When T myself the toil of battle share. 
And from our vessels when the foe is driv'n, 
Grant that with all his arms and comrades true 15 

He may in safety to the ships return." 

Thus pray'd he; Jove, the Lord of counsel, heard, 
And half his pray'r he granted, half denied: 
For from the ships the battle to repel 
He granted; but denied his safe return. 20 

His pray'rs and off'rings ended, to the tent 
Achilles turned again, and in the chest 
Replac'd the cup; then issuing forth, he stood 
Before the tent; for much he long'd to see 
The Greeks and Trojans join in battle strife. 25 

They who in arms round brave Patroclus stood 
Their line of battle formed, with courage high 
To dash upon the Trojans; and as wasps 
That have their nest beside the public road, 
Which boys delight to vex and irritate 30 

In wanton play, but to the gen'ral harm; 
Them if some passing trav'ller unawares 
Disturb, with angry courage forth they rush 
In one continuous swarm, to guard their nest: 
E'en with such courage poured the Myrmidons 35 

Forth from the ships; then uproar wild arose, 
And loud Patroclus on his comrades call'd: 
' ' Ye valiant Myrmidons, who boast yourselves 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 175 

Achilles' comrades, quit ye now like men; 

Your ancient valor prove; to Peleus' son, 

Of all the Greeks the noblest, so shall we, 

His faithful followers, highest honor give; 

And Agamemnon's haughty self shall mourn 5 

The slight on Grecia's bravest warrior cast." 

His words fresh courage rous'd in ev'ry breast. 
Thick on the Trojan host their masses fell; 
While loud the fleet reechoed to the sound 
Of Grecian cheers; but when the Trojans saw, 10 

Blazing in arms, Menoetius' godlike son, 
Himself, and follower; quail'd the spirits of all; 
Their firm-set ranks were shaken; for they deem'd 
Achilles had beside the ships exchanged 
His wrath for friendship; and each sev'ral man 15 

Look'd round, to find his own escape from death. 

In the heat of battle Patroclus forgot to obey the 
order of Achilles and pursued the foe to the walls of 
Troy, where he was repulsed by Apollo, and killed by 
Death of Hector, Upon the death of Patroclus Men- 

patrociug. elaus defended his body from the enemy. 
A fierce conflict ensued, Hector driving back Menelaus, 
who soon returned reenforced by Ajax. The combat 
continued, growing more and more furious. Hector 
donned the armour of Achilles and fought desperately 
as the comrades of Patroclus bore his body toward the 
ship. 

Meantime Antilochus to Peleus' son, 
Swift- footed messenger, his tidings bore. 
Him by the high-beak'd ships he found, his mind 
Th' event presaging, fill'd with anxious thoughts, 5 

As thus he commun'd with his mighty heart: 

4 'Alas! what means it, that the long-hair'd Greeks, 
Chas'd from the plain, are thronging round the ships? 
Let me not now. ye Gods, endure the grief 
My mother once foretold that I should live 10 



176 the world's literature 

To see the bravest of the Myrmidons 

Cut off by Trojans from the light of day. 

Menoetius' noble son has surely fall'n; 

Foolhardy! yet I warn'd him, and besought, 

Soon as the ships from hostile fires were safe, 5 

Back to return, nor Hector's onset meet." 

While in his mind and spirit thus he mus'd, 
Beside him stood the noble Nestor's son, 
. . And weeping, thus his mournful message gave: 

■AciiiiiGS is in.- 

formed of Pa- " Alas! great son of Peleus, woful news, 10 

troclus' death. ° . 

Which would to Heav'n I had not to impart, 
To thee I bring; Patroclus lies in death; 
And o'er his body now the war is wag'd; 
His naked body, for his arms are now 
The prize of Hector of the glancing helm." 15 

He said; and darkest clouds of grief o'erspread 
Achilles' brow; with both his hands he seiz'd 
And pour'd upon his head the grimy dust, 
Marring his graceful visage; and defil'd 
With black'ning ashes all his costly robes. 20 

Stretch'd in the dust his lofty stature lay, 
As with his hands his flowing locks he tore; 
Loud was the wailing of the female band, 
Achilles' and Patroclus' prize of war, 
As round Achilles, rushing out of doors, 25 

Beating their breasts, with tott'ring limbs they press'd. 
In tears beside him stood Antilochus, 
And in his own Achilles' hand he held, 
Groaning in spirit, fearful lest for grief 
In his own bosom he should sheathe his sword. 30 

Loud were his groans; his Goddess-mother heard, 
Beside her aged father where she sat 
In the deep ocean caves, and wept aloud; 
The Nereids all, in ocean's depths who dwell, 
Encircled her around; in unison 35 

They beat their breasts, as Thetis led the wail. 

' ' Give ear, my sister Nereids all, and learn 
How deep the grief that in my breast I bear. 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 177 

Me miserable! me, of noblest son 
Unhappiest mother! me, a son who bore, 
My brave, my beautiful, of heroes chief ! 
Like a young tree he throve: I tended him, 
In a rich vineyard as the choicest plant; 5 

Till in the beaked ships I sent him forth 
To war with Tro} 7 ; him ne'er shall I behold, 
Returning home, in aged Peleus' house. 
E'en while he lives, and sees the light of day, 
He lives in sorrow; nor, to soothe his grief, 10 

The grief of M ^ presence can avail; yet will I go, 
Acwues. That I may see my dearest child, and learn 

What grief hath reach'd him, from the war withdrawn." 

She said, and left the cave; with her they went, 
Weeping; before them parted th' ocean wave. 15 

But when they reach'd the fertile shore of Troy, 
In order due they landed on the beach, 
Where frequent, round Achilles swift of foot, 
Were moor'd the vessels of the Myrmidons. 
Thetis visits There, as he groan'd aloud,* beside him stood 20 
her son. His Goddess-mother; she, with bitter cry, 

Clasp'd in her hands his head, and sorrowing spoke: 
"Why weeps my son? and what his cause of grief 
Speak out, and nought conceal; for all thy pray'r 
Which with uplifted hands thou mad'st to Jove, 25 

He hath fulfill'd, that, flying to their ships, 
The routed sons of Greece should feel how much 
They need thine aid, and deep disgrace endure. " 
To whom Achilles, deeply groaning, thus: 
" Mother, all this indeed hath Jove fulfill'd; 30 

Yet what avails it, since my dearest friend 
Achilles' love * s s ^ am » Patroclus? whom I honor'd most 
of Patroclus. q^ a ^ m y CO mrades, lov'd him as my soul. 
Him have I lost: and Hector from his corpse 
Hath stripp'd those arms, those weighty, beauteous arms, 35 
A marvel to behold, which from the Gods 
Peleus receiv'd, a glorious gift, that day 
When they consign'ed thee to a mortal's bed. 



178 the world's literature 

How better were it, if thy lot had been 

Still 'mid the Ocean deities to dwell, 

And Peleus had espous'd a mortal bride! 

For now is bitter grief for thee in store, 

Mourning thy son; whom to his home return'd 5 

Thou never more shalt see; nor would I wish 

To live, and move amid my fellow-men, 

Unless that Hector, vanquish'd by my spear, 

May lose his forfeit life, and pay the price 

Of foul dishonor to Patroclus done." 10 

To whom, her tears o'erflowing, Thetis thus: 
" E'en as thou sayst, my son, thy term is short; 

Nor long shall Hector's fate precede thine own." 
Achilles, answering, spoke in passionate grief: 
" Would I might die this hour, who fail'd to save 15 

My comrade slain! far from his native land 

He died, sore needing my protecting arm; 

And I, who ne'er again must see my home, 

Nor to Patroclus, nor the many Greeks 

Whom Hector's hand hath slain, have render'd aid; 20 

But idly here I sit, cumb'ring the ground: 

I, who amid the Greeks no equal own 

In fight; to others, in debate, I yield. 

Accurs'd of Gods and men be hateful strife 

And anger, which to violence provokes 25 

E'en temp'rate souls: though sweeter be its taste 

Than dropping honey, in the heart of man 

Swelling, like smoke; such anger in my soul 

Hath Agamemnon kindled, King of men. 

But pass we that; though still my heart be sore, 30 

Yet will I school my angry spirit down. 
Achilles re- In search of Hector now, of him who slew 
avenge the My friend, I go; prepar'd to meet my death, 
Patroclus. When Jove shall will it, and th' Immortals all. 

From death not e'en the might of Hercules, 35 

Though best belov'd of Saturn's son, could fly, 

By fate and Juno's bitter wrath subdued. 

I too, since such my doom, must lie in death; 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 1/9 

Yet, ere I die, immortal fame will win; 
And from their delicate cheeks, deep-bosom'd dames, 
Dardan and Trojan, bitter tears shall wipe, 
And groan in anguish; then shall all men know 
How long I have been absent from the field; 5 

Then, though thou love me, seek not from the war 
To stay my steps; for bootless were thy speech." 
Whom answer'd thus the silver-footed Queen: 
11 True are thy words, my son; and good it is, 
And commendable, from the stroke of death 10 

To save a worsted comrade; but thine arms, 
Thy brazen, flashing arms, the Trojans hold: 
Them Hector of the glancing helm himself 
Bears on his breast, exulting; yet not long 
Shall be his triumph, for his doom is nigh. 15 

But thou, engage not in the toils of war, 
Until thine eyes again behold me here; 
For with to-morrow's sun will I return 
With arms of heav'nly mould, by Vulcan wrought."' 

Thus saying, from her son she turn'd away. 20 

And turning to her sister Nereids spoke: 
• Back to the spacious bosom of the deep 
Retire ye now; and to my father's house, 
The aged Ocean God, your tidings bear- 
Thetis goes to While I to high Olympus speed, to crave 25 

vuican. At y u ] can < s i iand> t j ie sidll'd artificer. 

A boon of dazzling armour for my son." 

She said: and they beneath the ocean wave 
Descended, while to high Olympus sped 
The silver-footed Goddess, thence in hope 30 

To bear the dazzling armour to her son. 
She to Olympus sped; the Greeks meanwhile 
Before the warrior-slayer Hector fled 
With wild, tumultuous uproar, till they reach'd 
Their vessels and the shore of Hellespont. 35 

Nor had the well-greav'd Greeks Achilles' friend. 
Patroclus, from amid the fray withdrawn; 
For close upon him follow'd horse and man, 



180 the world's literature 

And Hector, son of Priam, fierce as flame; 
Thrice noble Hector, seizing from behind, 
Sought by the feet to drag away the dead, 
Cheering his friends; thrice, clad in warlike might, 
The fight over The two Aiaces drove him from his prey. 5 

the body of _ r * . L J 

Patrocius. \ et, fearless in his strength, now rushing on 

He dash'd amid the fray; now, shouting loud, 
Stood firm; but backward not a step retir'd. 
As from a carcase herdsmen strive in vain 
To scare a tawny lion, hunger-pinch'd, 10 

E'en so th' Ajaces, mail-clad warriors, fail'd 
To scare the son of Priam from the corpse. 
And now the body had he borne away, 
With endless fame; but from Olympus' height 
Came storm-swift Iris down to Peleus' son, 15 

And bade him don his arms; by Juno sent, 
Unknown to Jove, and to th' Immortals all. 
She stood beside him, and address'd him thus: 

"Up, son of Peleus! up, thou prince of men! 
Haste to Patrocius' rescue; whom around, 20 

Before the ships, is wag'd a fearful war, 
With mutual slaughter; these the dead defending, 
And those to Ilion's breezy heights intent 
To bear the body; noble Hector chief, 
Who longs to sever from the tender neck, 25 

And fix upon the spikes, thy comrade's head. 

ins bids Up then! delay no longer; deem it shame 

Achilles rescue _ , _ _ + , A A _ „ __ 

the body. Patrocius corpse should glut the dogs of Troy, 

Dishon'ring thee, if aught dishonor him." 
Whom answered thus Achilles, swift of foot: 30 

b 'Say, heav'nly Iris, of th' immortal Gods 
Who bade thee seek me, and this message bring? " 

To whom swift Iris thus: " To thee I come 
By Juno sent, th' imperial wife of Jove: 
Unknown to Saturn's son, and all the Gods 35 

Who on Olympus' snowy summit dwell." 
To whom again Achilles, swift of foot: 
11 How in the battle toil can I engage? 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 181 

My arms are with the Trojans; and to boot 

My mother warn'd me not to arm for fight, 

Till I again should see her; for she hop'd 

To bring me heav'nly arms by Vulcan wrought: 

Nor know I well whose armor I could wear, 5 

Save the broad shield of Ajax Telamon; 

And he, methinks, amid the foremost ranks 

E'en now is fighting o'er Patroclus' corpse." 

Whom answer'd storm-swift Iris: "Well we know 
Thy glorious arms are by the Trojans held; 10 

But go thou forth, and from above the ditch 
Appear before them; daunted at the sight, 
Haply the Trojans may forsake the field, 
And breathing-time afford the sons of Greece, 
Toil-worn; for little pause has yet been theirs." 15 

Swift Iris said, and vanish'd; then uprose 
Achilles, dear to Jove; and Pallas threw 
Her tassell'd segis o'er his shoulders broad; 
His head encircling with a coronet 

Of golden cloud, whence fiery flashes gleam'd. 20 

As from an island city up to Heav'n 
The smoke ascends, which hostile forces round 
Beleaguer, and all day with cruel war 
From its own state cut off; but when the sun 
Hath set, blaze frequent forth the beacon fires; 25 

High rise the flames, and to the dwellers round 
Their signal flash, if haply o'er the sea 
May come the needful aid; so brightly flash'd 
That fiery light around Achilles' head. 
He left the wall, and stood above the ditch, 30 

But from the Greeks apart, rememb'ring well 
Aehnies shouts His mother's prudent counsel; there he stood, 
are d t?rro T /- 0,ians And shouted loudly; Pallas join'd her voice 

stricken. And fflrd ^^ ^^ ftU ^ TrQ j an host 

Clear as the trumpet's sound, which calls to arms 3c 

Some town, encompass'd round with hostile bands, 
Rang out the voice of great iEacides. 
But when Achilles' voice of brass they heard, 



182 the worldV literature 

They quail'd in spirit; the sleek-skin'd steeds themselves, 
Conscious of coming ill, bore back the cars: 
Their charioteers, dismay'd, beheld the flame 
Which, kindled by the blue-ey'd Goddess, blaz'd 
Unquench'd around the head of Peleus' son. 5 

Thrice shouted from the ditch the godlike chief; 
Thrice terror struck both Trojans and Allies; 
And there and then beside their chariots fell 
Twelve of their bravest; while the Greeks, well pleas'd, 
Recovery of the Patroclus' body from the fray withdrew, 10 

body * And on a litter laid; around him stood 

His comrades, mourning; with them, Peleus' son, 
Shedding hot tears, as on his friend he gaz'd, 
Laid on the bier, and pierc'd with deadly wounds: 
Him to the war with horses and with cars 15 

He sent; but ne'er to welcome his return. 
By stag-ey'd Juno sent, reluctant sank 
-Th' unwearied sun beneath the ocean wave; 
The sun had set, and breath'd awhile the Greeks 
From the fierce labors of the balanc'd field; 20 

Nor less the Trojans, from the stubborn fight 
Retiring, from the chariots loos'd their steeds: 
But ere they shar'd the ev'ning meal, they met 
In council; all stood up; none dar'd to sit; 
For fear had fallen on all, when reappear'd 25 

Achilles, from the battle long withdrawn. 

The Trojans, in council, agreed to remain in the 
field while the Greeks all night with tears and groans 
bewailed Patroclus. 

On his comrade's breast 
The grief of Achilles laid his murder-dealing hands, 
Aehiiies. And led w - tll fitter groans the loud lament. 

As when the hunters, in the forest's depth, 
Have robb'd a bearded lion of his cubs; 5 

Too late arriving, he with anger chafes; 
Then follows, if perchance he may o'ertake, 
Through many a mountain glen, the hunters' steps, 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 183 

With grief and fury fill'd; so Peleus' son, 
With bitter groans, the Myrmidons address'd: 

i4 Vain was, alas! the promise which I gave. 
Seeking the brave Menoetius to console, 
To bring to Opus back his gallant son, 5 

Rich with his share of spoil from Troy o'erthrown; 
But Jove fulfills not all that man designs: 
For us hath fate decreed, that here in Troy 
We two one soil should redden with our blood ; 
Nor me, returning to my native land, 10 

Shall aged Peleus in his halls receive. 
Nor Thetis; here must earth retain my bones. 
But since, Patroclus, I am doomed on earth 
Behind thee to remain, thy fun'ral rites 
I will not celebrate, till Hector's arms, 15 

And head, thy haughty slayer's, here I bring; 
And on thy pyre twelve noble sons of Troy 
Will sacrifice, in vengeance of thy death. 
Thou by our beaked ships till then must lie; 
And weeping o'er thee shall deep-bosom'd dames, 20 

Trojan and Dardan, mourn both night and day: 
The prizes of our toil, when wealthy towns 
Before our valor and our spears have fall'n." 

He said, and bade his comrades on the fire 
An ample tripod place, without delay 25 

To cleanse Patroclus from the bloody gore: 
They on the burning fire the tripod plac'd, 
With water fill'd, and kindled wood beneath. 
Around the bellying tripod rose the flames, 
Heating the bath; within the glitt'ring brass 30 

Soon as the water boil'd, they wash'd the corpse 
With lissom oils anointing, and the wounds 
With fragrant ointments fill'd, of nine years old; 
Then in fine linen they the body wrapp'd 
From head to feet, and laid it on a couch, 35 

And cover'd over with a fair white sheet. 
All night around Achilles swift of foot 
The Mvrmidons with tears Patroclus mourn'd. 



184 the world's literature 

The lamentations of her son moved' Thetis to seek 
Vulcan in the realms of Olympus. She found the 
lame god busy at work, and with tears she besought 
him to shape an armor for Achilles. Vulcan made all 
haste to comply. 

The bellows them directing to the fire, 
He bade them work; through twenty pipes at once 
Forthwith they pour'd their diverse-temper'd blasts; 
Now briskly seconding his eager haste, 
Now at his will, and as the work requir'd. 5 

The stubborn brass, and tin, and precious gold, 
And silver, first he melted in the fire, 
Then on its stand his weighty anvil plac'd; 
Vulcan forges And with one hand the hammer's pond'rous weight 

the armor. He wielded> while tlie other grasp >d the tongS. 10 

And first a shield he fashion'd, vast and strong, 
With rich adornment; circled with a rim, 
Threefold, bright-gleaming, whence a silver belt 
The shield of Depended; of five folds the shield was form'd; 

And on its surface many a rare design 15 

Of curious art his practic'd skill had wrought. 
Thereon were figur'd earth, and sky and sea, 
The ever-circling sun, and full-orb'd moon, 

The solar pic- ° 

ture on the And all the signs that crown the vault<-of Heav'n; 

shield. ° 

Pleiads and Hyads, and Orion's might, 20 

And Arctos, call'd the Wain, who wheels on high 

His circling course, and on Orion waits; 

Sole star that never bathes in th' ocean wave. 
And two fair populous towns were sculpt ur'd there; 
The marriage In one were marriage pomp and revelry, 25 

scene. ^nd brides, in gay procession, through the streets 

With blazing torches from their chambers borne, 

While frequent rose the hymeneal song. 

Youths whirl'd around in joyous dance, with sound 

Of flute and harp; and, standing at their doors, 30 

Admiring women on the pageant gaz'd. 

Meanwhile a busy throng the forum fill'd: 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 185 

There between two a fierce contention rose, 
About a death-fine; to the public one 
Appeal'd, asserting to have paid the whole; 
While one denied that he had aught receiv'd. 

Both were desirous that before the Judge 5 

A court scene. . . 

The issue should be tried; with noisy shouts 
Their several partisans encourag'd each. 
The heralds still'd the tumult of the crowd: 
On polish'd chairs, in solemn circle, sat 
The rev'rend Elders; in their hands they held 10 

The loud-voic'd heralds' sceptres; waving these, 
They heard th' alternate pleadings; in the midst 
Two talents lay of gold, which he should take 
Who should before them prove his righteous cause. 
Before the second town two armies lay, 15 

In arms refulgent; to destroy the town 
Th' assailants threatened, or among themselves 
Of all the wealth within the city stor'd 
An equal half, as ransom, to divide. 

The terms rejecting, the defenders mann'd 20 

A secret ambush; on the walls they plac'd 
Women and children muster d for defence, 
And men by age enfeebled; forth they went, 
By Mars and Pallas led; these, wrought in gold, 
In golden arms array'd, above the crowd 25 

For beauty and stature, as befitting Gods, 
Conspicuous shone; of lesser height the rest. 
But when the destin'd ambuscade was reach'd, 
Beside the river, where the shepherds drove 
a pastoral Their flocks and herds to water, down they lay, 30 
scene - In glitt'ring arms accoutred, and apart 

They plac'd two spies, to notify betimes 
Th' approach of flocks of sheep and lowing herds. 
These, in two shepherds' charge, ere long appear'd 
Who, unsuspecting as they mov'd along, 35 

Enjoy'd the music of their past'ral pipes. 
They on the booty, from afar discern'd, 
Sprang from their ambuscade; and cutting off 



186 THE WORLDS LITERATURE 

The herds, and fleecy flocks, their guardians slew. 
Their comrades heard the tumult, where they sat 
Before their sacred altars, and forthwith 
Sprang on their cars, and with fast-stepping steeds 
Pursued the plund'rers and o'ertook them soon. 5 

There on the river's bank they met in arms, 
And each at other hurl'd their brazen spears. 
And there were figur'd Strife and Tumult wild, 
And deadly Fate, who in her iron grasp 
One newly- wounded, one un wounded bore, 10 

While by the feet from out the press she dragg'd 
Another slain; about her shoulders hung 
A garment crimson'd with the blood of men. 
Like living men they seem'd to move to fight, 
To drag away the bodies of the slain. 15 

And there was grav'n a wide extended plain 
An agricultural Of f allow land, rich, fertile, mellow soil, 
picture. Thrice plough'd; where many ploughmen up and 

down 
Their teams were driving; and as each attain'd 
The limit of the field, would one advance, 20 

And tender him a cup of gen'rous wine : 
Then would he turn, and to the end again 
Along the furrow cheerly drive his plough. 
And still behind them darker show'd the soil, 
The true presentment of a new-plough'd field, 25 

Though wrought in gold; a miracle of art. 
There too was grav'n a cornfield, rich in grain, 
The harvest Where with sharp sickles reapers plied their task, 
scene. ^ n( ^ ^hick, in even swathe, the trusses fell; 

The binders, following close, the bundles tied ; 30 

Three were the binders; and behind them boys 

In close attendance waiting, in their arms 

Gather'd the bundles, and in order pil'd. 

Amid them, staff in hand, in silence stood 

The King, rejoicing in th' plenteous swathe. 35 

A little way remov'd, the heralds slew 

A sturdy ox, and now beneath an oak 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 187 

Prepar'd the feast; while women mix'd, hardby, 
White barley porridge for the lab'rers' meal. 
And, with rich clusters laden, there was grav'n 
The vintage A vineyard fair, all gold; of glossy black 
sceae# T]}e bunches were, on silver poles sustain'd; 5 

Around, a darksome trench; beyond, a fence 
Was wrought of shining tin; and though it led 
One only path, by which the bearers pass'd, 
Who gather'd in the vineyard's bounteous store. 
There maids and youths, in joyous spirits bright, 10 

In woven baskets bore the luscious fruit. 
A boy, amid them, from a clear ton'd harp 
Drew lovely music; well his liquid voice 
The strings accompanied; they all with dance 
And song harmonious join'd, and joyous shouts, 15 

As the gay bevy lightly tripped along. 
Of straight-horn'd cattle too a herd was grav'n; 
a cattle picture. Of gold and tin the heifers all were wrought; 
They to the pasture, from the cattle yard. 
With gentle lowings, by a babbling stream, 20 

Where quiv'ring reed-beds rustled, slowly mov'd; 
Four golden shepherds walk'd beside the herd, 
B} T nine swift dogs attended; then amid 
The foremost heifers sprang two lions fierce 
Upon the lordly bull: he, bellowing loud, 25 

Was dragg'd along, by dogs and youths pursued. 
The tough bull's-hide they tore, and gorging iapp'd 
Th' intestines and dark blood; with vain attempt 
The herdsmen following closely, to the attack 
Cheer'd their swift dogs; these shunn'd the lion's jaws, 30 
And close around them baying, held aloof. 

And there the skilful artist's hand had trac'd 
A pasture broad, with fleecy flocks o'erspread, 
In a fair glade, with fold, and tents, and pens. 
There, too, the skilful artist's hand had wrought 35 
The festival With curious workmanship, a mazy dance 
scene. Like that which Daedalus in Cnossus erst 

At fair-hair'd Ariadne's bidding fram'd. 



188 

There laying each on other's wrists their hand, 
Bright youths and many-suitor'd maidens danc'd: 
In fair white linen these; in tunics those, 
Well woven, shining soft with fragrant oils; 
These with fair coronets were crown'd, while those 5 

With golden swords from silver belts were girt. 
Now whhTd they round with nimble practis'd feet, 
Easy, as when a potter, seated, turns 
A wheel, new fashion'd, by his skilful hand, 
And spins it round, to prove if true it run; 10 

Now featly mov'd in well-beseeming ranks. 
A num'rous crowd, around, the lovely dance 
Survey'd, delighted, while an honor'd Bard 
Sang, as he struck the lyre, and to the strain 
Two tumblers, in the midst, were whirling round. 15 

The ocean scene. About the margin of the massive shield 

t Was wrought the mighty strength of th' ocean stream. 
The shield completed, vast and strong, he forg'd 
A breastplate, dazzling bright as flame of fire; 
And next, a weighty helmet for his head. 20 

Fair, richly wrought, with crest of gold above; 
Then last, well-fitting greaves of pliant tin. 
Before Achilles' Goddess-mother laid: 
She, like a falcon, from the snow-clad heights 
Of huge Olympus, darted swiftly down, 25 

Charg'd with the glitt'ring arms by Vulcan wrought. 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 189 



CHAPTER VIII. 

The Character of Achilles Continued. 
As Thetis returned to the ships bearing the gift of 
Vulcan, she found her son mourning over the body of 
Patroclus. She laid before him the marvellous armour, 
the miracle of art, which he seized with a fierce delight, 
and charging his mother to care for the body of his 
friend, he passed along the ocean beach shouting to the 
chiefs to assemble. 

When all the Greeks were closely throng'd around, 
Up rose Achilles swift of foot, and said: 

' ' Great son of Atreus, what hath been the gain 
To thee or me, since heart-consuming strife 
Hath fiercely rag'd between us, for a girl, 5 

Who would to Heav'n had died by Dian's shafts 
That day when from Lyrnessus' captur'd town 
I bore her off! so had not many a Greek 
Bitten the blood} 7 dust, by hostile hands 
Subdued, while I in anger stood aloof. 10 

Great was the gain to Troy; but Greeks, methinks, 
Will long retain the mem'ry of our feud. 
Yet pass we that; and though our hearts be sore, 
Still let us school our angry spirits down. 
The wrath of My wrath I here abiure; it is not meet 15 

Achilles is 

appeased. It burn for ever unappeas'd; do thou 

Muster to battle straight the long-hair'd Greeks; 

That, to the Trojans once again oppos'd, 

I may make trial if beside the s^ips 

They dare this night remain; but he, I ween, 20 

Will gladly rest his limbs, who safe shall fly, 

My spear escaping, from the battle-field." 



190 the world's literature 

The Greeks rejoiced to hear Achilles abjure his 
anger, and Agamemnon gladly proffered reconcilement 
through words and gifts. The gifts Achilles refused, 
and urged speedy preparation for battle. His im- 
patience was with difficulty restrained by Ulysses, who 
urged that the troops needed refreshment. The hero 
obstinately refused all food himself although persuaded 
to wait until the warriors had eaten, when Pallas Athene 
descended from Olympus and distilled nectar and am- 
brosia on his breast lest his strength should be subdued 
by hunger. Soon the earth shook with the tramp of 
armed men. Achilles stood in their midst gnashing his 
teeth audibly while his eyes blazed like fire. In the 
armour of Vulcan he seemed more godlike than ever, 
and he bore the pondrous Pelian spear which he alone 
could poise. Springing to his chariot he called loudly 
to his horses bidding them carry him safely through the 
conflict, when Xanthus, one of the noble steeds, being 
endued with speech from Juno, replied: 

"Yes, great Achilles, we this day again 
Will bear thee safely; but thy day of doom 
Is nigh at hand; nor we shall cause thy death, 
But Heav'n's high will, and Fate's imperious pow'r. 
By no default of ours, nor lack of speed, 5 

The Trojans stripp'd Patroclus of his arms; 
The mighty God, fair-hair'd Latona's son, 

Achilles' horse Achiev'd his death, and Hector's vict'ry gain'd. 

withihlp^wer O ur speed of foot may vie with Zephyr's breeze. 

of prophecy. Deem'd swiftest of the winds; but thou art doom'd 
To die by force combin'd of God and man." 11 

He said; his farther speech the Furies stay'd. 
To whom in wrath Achilles swift of foot: 
' Xanthus, why thus predict my coming fate ? 
It ill beseems thee! well I know myself 15 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 191 

That I am fated here in Troy to die, 

Far from my home and parents; yet withal 

I cease not, till these Trojans from the field 

Before me fly." He said, and to the front, 

His war-cry shouting, urged his fiery steeds. 5 

In the terrible battle which followed the gods took 
part. All the plain was thronged by men and horses, 
„,. . „, p and the earth rang beneath their feet. 

The battle of o 

gods and men. Achilles met JEonas and would have slain 
him, but he was seized by Neptune and borne away. 
Hector, too, was saved in like manner by Apollo. Hero 
after hero fell beneath the sword of Achilles, until the 
whole Trojan army fled before him like chaff driven by 
the wind, half of them into the river Scamander. As 
they were struggling with the wildly eddying stream, 
Achilles sprang into the torrent and seized twelve of 
them to sacrifice to the ghost of his dead friend, Patro- 
clus. Whereupon the river rose in its might and wrath 
and pursued him far out on the plain, carrying with it 
AcMiies fights the bodies of those whose gore had reddened 
god. all its waters, — the bodies of those slain by 

Achilles. The heavenly powers, fearful lest their hero 
should be overcome by the river, sent Vulcan to dry the 
plains, burn the bodies and dry up the waters of Scam- 
ander. The river retreated, leaving Achilles to continue 
the slaughter and drive the Trojans into their city. 
Hector alone remained outside the city gates. Priam, 
watching Achilles, scouring o'er the plain in his daz- 
zling armour, called on his son imploringly to save him- 
self, but Hector remained firm. Achilles approached, 
brandishing the spear of Peleus, terrible as the god of 
w^ar in flashing arms. Hector trembling fled and Achilles 



192 the world's literature 

pursued. Three times they sped around the city walls, 
when Jove hung aloft his golden scales and placed in 

Achilles meets eaC ^ ^ e ^° tS ^ 0r ^00111, ^ 0r g r ^at Achilles 

Hector. Qne an( j one .p or jj ec t r. ^he scale sank 

down weighted with Hector's death. A deluding vision 
in form of Hector's brother was sent by Pallas to cheer 
him on, and when he met Achilles hand to hand Hector 
begged him to enter into the compact that whichever 
proved victor should restore the body of the one who 
was slain to his friends. 

With fierce regard Achilles answered thus: 
" Hector, thou object of my deadly hate, 
Talk not to me of compacts; as 'tween men 
And lions no firm concord can exist, 

Nor wolves and lambs in harmony unite, 5 

But ceaseless enmity between them dwells; 
So not in friendly terms, nor compact firm, 
Can thou and I unite, till one of us 
Glut with his blood the mail-clad warrior Mars. 
Mind thee of all thy fence; behoves thee now 10 

To prove a spearman skill'd, and warrior brave. 
For thee escape is none; now, by my spear, 
Hath Pallas doom'd thy death; my comrades' blood, 
Which thou hast shed, shall all be now aveng'd." 

Strengthened by the presence of the deluding vision, 
Hector rushed upon Achilles, who, scanning eagerly his 
foe to see where he was most exposed, levelled his lance 
at Hector's neck and felled him to the dust. Then 
vauntingly Achilles spoke. 

" Hector, Patroclus stripping of his arms, 
Achilles over- ^hy hope was that thyself wast safe; and I, 
comes Hector. ^ ot p re sent, brought no terror to thy soul: 

Fool! in the hollow ships I yet remain'd, 

I, his avenger, mightier far than he; 5 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 193 

I, who am now thy conqu'rer. By the dogs 
And vultures shall thy corpse be foully torn, 
While him the Greeks with fun'ral rites shall grace," 
Whom answer'd Hector of the glancing helm, 
Hector's Prostrate and helpless: " By thy soul, thy knees. 5 

humiliation. Thy parents » heads, Achilles, I beseech, 
Let not my corpse by Grecian dogs be torn, 
Accept the ample stores of brass and gold, 
Which as my ransom by my honor'd sire 
And mother shall be paid thee; but my corpse 10 

Restore, that so the men and wives of Troy 
May deck with honors due my fun'ral pyre.'' 
Achilles' ven- To whom, with fierce aspect, Achilles thus: 
geance. 1 1 j£ nee me no k nee s, vile hound ! nor prate to me 

Of parents! such my hatred, that almost 15 

I could persuade myself to tear and eat 

Thy mangled flesh; such wrongs I have to avenge, 

He lives not who can save thee from the dogs; 

Xot though with ransom ten and twenty fold 

He here should stand, and yet should promise more; 20 

No, not though Priam's royal self should sue 

To be allow'd for gold to ransom thee; 

No, not e'en so, thy mother shall obtain 

To lay thee out upon the couch and mourn 

O'er thee, her offspring; but on all thy limbs 25 

Shall dogs and carrion vultures make their feast." 

To whom thus Hector of the glancing helm, 
Dying: " I know thee well, nor did I hope 
To change thy purpose; iron is thy soul. 
But see that on thy head I bring not down 30 

The wrath of Heav'n, when by the Scaean gate 
The hand of Paris, with Apollo's aid, 
Brave warrior as thou art, shall strike thee down." 
The death of E'en as ne spoke, his eyes were clos'd in death; 
Hector. ^ n( j to ^ e viewless shades his spirit fled, 35 

Mourning his fate, his youth and vigor lost. 
To him, though dead, Achilles thus replied: 
" Die thou! my fate I then shall meet, whene'er 



194 the world's literature 

Jove and th' immortal Gods shall so decree." 

He said, and from the corpse his spear withdrew, 
And laid aside; then stripp'd the armor off, 
With blood besmear'd; the Greeks around him throng'd, 
Gazing on Hector's noble form and face, 5 

And none approach'd that did notjidd a wound: 
And one to other look'd, and said, "Good faith, 
Hector is easier far to handle now, 
Than when erewhile he wrapp'd our ships in fire." 
Thus would they say, then stab the dead anew. 10 

Achilles recovers But when the son of Peleus, swift of foot, 
his armor. jj a( ^ s ^ r ipp'^ {lie armor from the corpse, he rose, 
And, standing, thus th' assembled Greeks address'd : 
' ' O friends, the chiefs and councillors of Greece, 
Since Heav'n hath granted us this man to slay, 15 

Whose single arm hath wrought us more of ill 
Than all the rest combin'd, advance we now 
Before the city in arms, and trial make 
What is the mind of Troy; if, Hector slain, 
They from the citadel intend retreat, 20 

Or still, despite their loss, their ground maintain. 
But wherefore entertain such thoughts, my soul? 
Beside the ships, unwept, unburied, lies 
Patroclus: whom I never can forget, 
While number'd with the living, and my limbs 25 

The fidelity of Have pow'r to move; in Hades though the dead 
Achilles. May be forgotten, yet e'en there will I 

The mem'r}^ of my lov'd companion keep. 
Xow to the ships return we, sons of Greece, 
Glad paeans singing! with us he shall go; 30 

Great glory is ours, the godlike Hector slain, 
The pride of Troy, and as a God rever'd." 

He said, and foully Hector's corpse misus'd; 
Of either foot he pierc'd the tendon through, 
Achilles abuses That f rom the ankle passes to the heel, 35 

Hector. And to his chariot bound with leather thongs, 

Leaving the head to trail along the ground; 
Then mounted, with the captur'd arms, his car, 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 195 

And urg'd his horses; nothing loth, they flew. 

A cloud of dust the trailing body rais'd: 

Loose hung his glossy hair; and in the dust 

Was laid that noble head, so graceful once; 

Now to foul insult doom'd by Jove's decree, 5 

In his own country, by a foeman's hand. 

All around was heard the wail of the Trojans. The 
father of Hector groaned piteously, and the mother 
poured forth her grief in words of lamentations. 

Weeping, she spoke; but nought as yet was known 
To Hector's wife; to her no messenger 
Had brought the tidings, that without the walls 
Remained her husband; in her house withdrawn 
Andromache A web she wove, all purple, double woof, 5 

?^rn n o? the With varied flow'rs in rich embroidery, 
Hector. ^ n( j ^ Q j ier nea t-hair'd maidens gave command 

To place the largest caldrons on the fire, 
That with warm baths, returning from the fight, 
Hector might be refresh'd; unconscious she, 10 

That by Achilles' hand, with Pallas' aid, 
Far from the bath was godlike Hector slain. 
The sounds of wailing reach'd her from the tow'r; 
Totter'd her limbs, the distaff left her hand, 
And to her neat-hair'd maidens thus she spoke: 15 

' ' Haste, follow me, some two, that I may know 
What mean these sounds; my honour'd mother's voice 
she hears his I hear; and in my breast mv beating heart 

mother's 

lament. Leaps to my mouth; my limbs refuse to move; 

Some evil, sure, on Priam's house impends. 20 

Be unfulfill'd my words ! yet much I fear 

Lest my brave Hector be cut off alone, 

By great Achilles, from the walls of Troy, 

Chas'd to the plain, the desp'rate courage quench'd, 

Which ever led him from the gen'ral ranks 25 

Far in advance, and bade him yield to none." 

Then from the house she rush'd, like one distract, 
With beating heart; and with her went her maids. 



196 the world's literature 

But when she reached the tow'r, where stood the crowd, 
And mounted on the wall, she look'd around, 
And saw the body which with insult foul 
The flying steeds were dragging towards the ships; 
Andromache's Then sudden darkness overspread her eyes; 5 

gnef. Backward she fell, and gasp'd her spirit away. 

Far off were flung th' adornments of her head, 
The net, the fillet, and the woven bands; 
The nuptial veil by golden Venus giv'n, 
That day when Hector of the glancing helm 10 

Led from Eetion's house his wealthy bride. 
The sisters of her husband round her press'd, 
And held, as in the deadly swoon she lay. 
But when her breath and spirit return'd again, 
With sudden burst of anguish thus she cried : 15 

"Hector, oh woe is me ! to misery 
Andromache's ^ e hoth were born alike; thou here in Troy 
lament. j n p r i am ' s r0 yai palace: I in Thebes, 

By wooded Placos, in Eetion's house, 

Who nursed my infancy; unhappy he, 20 

Unhappier I ! would I had ne'er been born ! 
Now thou beneath the depths of earth art gone, 
Gone to the viewless shades; and me hast left 
A widow in thy house, in deepest woe; 
Our child, an infant still, thy child and mine, 25 

Ill-fated parents both ! nor thou to him, 
Hector, shalt be a guard, nor he to thee : 
For though he 'scape this tearful war with Greece, 
Yet naught to him remains but ceaseless woe, 
And strangers on his heritage shall seize. 30 

No young companions own the orphan boy : 
With downcast eyes, and cheeks bedew'd with tears, 
His father's friends approaching, pinch'd with want, 
He hangs upon the skirt of one, of one 
He plucks the cloak; perchance in pity some 35 

May at their tables let him sip the cup, 
Moisten his lips, but scarce his palate touch; 
While vouths, with both surviving parents bless'd 






CHARACTER OI? ACHILLES CONTINUED ID 7 

* 

May drive him from their feast with blows and taunts, 
' Begone ! thy father sits not at our board : ' 
Then weeping to his widowed mother's arms 
He flies, that orphan boy, Astyanax, 
Who on his father's knees, erewhile was fed 5 

On choicest marrow, and the fat of lambs; 
And, when in sleep his childish play was hush'd, 
Was lull'd to slumber in his nurse's arms 
On softest couch, by all delights surrounded. 
But grief, his father lost, awaits him now, 10 

Astyanax, of Trojans so surnam'd, 
Since thou alone wast Troy's defence and guard. 
But now on thee, beside the beaked ships, 
Far from thy parents, when the rav'ning dogs 
Have had their fill, the wriggling worms shall feed; 15 
On thee, all naked; while within thy house 
Lies store of raiment, rich and rare, the work 
Of women's hands; these will I burn with fire; 
Not for thy need — thou ne'er shalt wear them more, — 
But for thine honor in the sight of Troy." 20 

Weeping she spoke: the women join'd her wail. 

Thus the fair Andromache mourned for Hector, and 
all through Troy the people mourned. 

Achilles addressed his warlike comrades: 

' ' My faithful comrades, valiant Myrmidons, 
Loose we not yet our horses from the cars: 
But for Patroclus mourn, approaching near, 
With horse and car; such tribute claim the dead; 
Then, free indulgence to our sorrows giv'n, 5 

Loose we the steeds, and share the ev'ning meal." 

He said; and they with mingled voices rais'd 
The Greeks The solemn dirge; Achilles led the strain; 

besfin the cere* 

mony of Thrice round the dead they drove their sleek-skinn'd 

mourning for 

Patroclus. steeds, 

Mourning with hearts by Thetis grief -inspir'd; 10 

With tears the sands, with tears the warriors' arms, 
Were wet; so mightv was the chief thev mourn'd. 



198 THE WOKLl/s LITERATURE 

Then on his comrade's breast Achilles laid 

His blood-stain'd hands, and thus began the wail: 

"All hail, Patroclus, though in Pluto's realm; 
All that I promis'd, lo! I now perform; 
That on the corpse of Hector, hither dragg'd, 5 

Our dogs should feed, and that twelve noble youths, 
The sons of Troy, before thy fun'ral pyre, 
My hand in vengeance for thy death, should slay." 

He said, and foully Hector's corpse misus'd, 
Flung prostrate in the dust, beside the couch 10 

Where lay Menoetius' son. His comrades then 
Their glitt'ring armour doff'd, of polish'd brass, 
And loos'd their neighing steeds; then round the ship 
Of Peleus' son in countless numbers sat, 
While he the abundant fun'ral feast dispens'd. 15 

There many a steer lay stretch 'd beneath the knife, 
And many a sheep, and many a bleating goat, 
And many a white-tusk'd porker, rich in fat, 
There lay extended, singeing o'er the fire; 
And blood, in torrents, flow'd around the corpse. 20 

To Agamemnon then the Kings of Greece 
The royal son of Peleus, swift of foot, 
Conducted; yet with him they scarce prevail'd; 
So fierce his anger for his comrade's death. 
But when to Agamemnon's tent they came, 25 

He to the clear-voic'd heralds gave command 
An ample tripod on the fire to place; 
If haply Peleus' son he might persuade 
To wash away the bloody stains of war: 
But sternly he, and with an oath refused. , 30 

' ' No, by great Jove, I swear, of all the Gods 
Achnies re- Highest and mightiest, water shall not touch 
cfeanse himself This head of mine, till on the fun'ral pyre 

until after the . 

funeral. I see the body of Patroclus laid, 

And build his tomb, and cut my votive hair; 35 

For while I live and move 'mid mortal men, 
No second grief like this can pierce my soul. 
Observe we now the mournful fun'ral feast; 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 199 

But thou, great Agamemnon, King of men. 

Send forth at early dawn, and to the camp 

Bring store of fuel, and all else prepare, 

That with provision meet the dead may pass 

Down to the realms of night; so shall the fire 5 

From out our sight consume our mighty dead, 

And to their wonted tasks the troops return." 

He said: they listen'd, and his words obeyed; 
Then busily the ev'ning meal prepar'd. 
And shar'd the social feast: nor lack'd there aught. 10 

But when their thirst and hunger were appeas'd, 
Each to their sev'ral tents the rest repair 'd; 
But on the many-dashing ocean's shore 
Pelides lay. amid his Myrmidons. 

With bitter groans: in a clear space he lay, 15 

Where broke the waves, continuous, on the beach. 
There, circumfus'd around him. gentle sleep, 
Lulling the sorrows of his heart to rest. 
O'ercame his senses; for the hot pursuit 
Of Hector round the breezy heights of Troy 20 

His active limbs had wearied; as he slept, 
Patrocius' Sudden appear'd Patroclus' mournful shade, 

ghost appears 

to Achiiies. His very self; his height, and beauteous eyes, 
And voice: the very garb he wont to wear: 
Above his head it stood, and thus it spoke: 2o 

1 * Sleep'st thou, Achilles, mindless of thy friend, 

The ghost re- Neglecting, not the living, but the dead? 

*ukes Achiiies. H asten mv f un * r al rites, that I may pass 
Through Hades' gloomy gates; ere those be done, 
The spirits and spectres of departed men BO 

Drive me far from them, nor allow to cross 
Th' abhorred river; but forlorn and sad 
I wander through the wide-spread realms of night. 
And give me now thy hand, whereon to weep: 
For never more, when laid upon the pyre, 35 

Shall I return from Hades; never more, 
Apart from all our comrades, shall we two, 
As friends, sweet counsel take; for me, stern Death, 



200 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

The common lot of man, has op'd his mouth; 

Thou too, Achilles, rival of the Gods, 

Art destin'd here beneath the walls of Troy 

To meet thy doom; yet one thing must I add, 

And make, if thou wilt grant it, one request. 5 

Let not my bones be laid apart from thine, 

Achilles, but together, as our youth 

Was spent together in thy father's house, 

So in one urn be now our bones enclos'd, 

The golden vase, thy Goddess-mother's gift." 10 

Whom answer'd thus Achilles, swift of foot: 
" Why art thou here, lov'd being? why on me 
These sev'ral charges lay? whate'er thou bidd'st 
Will I perform, and all thy mind fulfill; 
But draw thou near, and in one short embrace, 15 

Let us, while yet we may, our grief indulge." 

Thus as he spoke, he spread his longing arms, 
But nought he clasp'd; and with a wailing cry, 
The ghost dis- Vanish'd, like smoke, the spirit beneath the earth, 
appears. ^jp sprang Achilles, all amaz'd, and smote 20 

His hands together, and lamenting cried: 

• ' O, Heav'n, there are then, in the realms below, 
Spirits and spectres, unsubstantial all; 
For all night long Patroclus' shade hath stood, 
Weeping and wailing, at my side, and told 25 

His bidding; th' image of himself it seem'd." 

He said; his words the gen'ral grief aroused: 
To them, as round the piteous dead they mourird, 
Appear'd the rosy-finger'd morn; and straight, 
From all the camp, by Agamemnon sent, 30 

Went forth, in search of fuel, men and mules, 
Led by a valiant chief, Meriones, 
The follower of renown'd Idomeneus. 
Their felling axes in their hands they bore, 
And twisted ropes; their mules before them driv'n; 35 
Now up, now down, now sideways, now aslope, 
They journey 'd on; but when they reached the foot 
Of spring-abounding Ida: they began 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 20 i 



With axes keen to hew the lofty oaks; 
They, loudly crashing, fell; the wood they clove, 
And bound it to the mules; these took their way 
Through the thick brushwood, hurrying to the plain. 
The axe-men, too, so bade Meriones, 5 

The follower of renown'd Idomeneus, 
Were laden all with logs, which on the beach 
They laid in order, where a lofty mound, 
In mem'ry of Patroclus and himself. 
The funeral Achilles had designed. When all the store 10 

pyre is built. Qf WQod wag du j y lak]? %he rest rema i n ' d 

In masses seated; but Achilles bade 

The warlike Myrmidons their armor don, 

And harness each his horses to his car; 

They rose and donn'd their arms, and on the cars 15 

Warriors and charioteers their places took. 

First came the horse, and then a cloud of foot, 
Unnumbered; in the midst Patroclus came, 
Borne by his comrades; all the corpse with hair 
They cover'd o'er, which from their heads they shore. 20 
Behind, Achilles held his head, and mourn'd 
The noble friend whom to the tomb he bore. 
Then on the spot by Peleus' son assign'd, 
They laid him down, and pil'd the wood on high. 
Then a fresh thought Achilles' mind conceiv'd : 25 

Standing apart, the yellow locks he shore. 
Which as an offring to Sperchius' stream 
He nursed in rich profusion; sorrowing then 
Look'd o'er the dark-blue sea, and thus he spoke: 

" Sperchius, all in vain to thee his pray'r 30 

My father Peleus made, and vow'd that I, 
Return'd in safety to my native land, 
To thee should dedicate my hair, and pay 
A solemn hecatomb, with sacrifice 

Of fifty rams, unblemish'd, to the springs 35 

Where on thy consecrated soil is plac'd 
Thine incense-honour'd altar; so he vow'd; 
But thou the boon withold'st; since I no more 



L 20'2 TIIK WORLD'S LITERATURE 

My native land may see, the hair he vow'd, 
To brave Patroclus thus I dedicate." 
He said, and on his comrade's hand he laid 
The funeral The locks; his act the gen'ral grief aroused; 

ceremonies. And nQW the setting sun ] iad f ound them still 5 

Lamenting o'er the dead; but Peleus' son 
Approaching, thus to Agamemnon spoke : 

" Atrides, for to thee the people pay 
Readiest obedience, mourning too prolong'd 
May weary; thou then from the pyre the rest 10 

Disperse, and bid prepare the morning meal; 
Ours be the farther charge, to whom the dead 
Was chiefly dear; yet let the chiefs remain." 

The monarch Agamemnon heard, and straight 
Dispersed the crowd amid their sev'ral ships. 15 

Th' appointed band remain'd, and pil'd the wood, 
A hundred feet each way they built the pyre, 
And on the summit, sorrowing, laid the dead, 
Then many a sheep and many a slow-paced ox 
They flay'd and dress'd around the fun'ral pyre; 20 

Of all the beasts Achilles took the fat 
And cover'd o'er the corpse from head to foot, 
And heap'd the slaughter'd carcases around; 
Then jars of honey plac'd, and fragrant oils, 
Resting upon the couch; next, groaning loud, 25 

Four pow'rful horses on the pyre he threw, 
Then, of nine dogs that at their master's board 
Had fed, he slaughter'd two upon his pyre; 
Last, with the sword, by evil counsel sway'd, 
Twelve noble youths he slew, the sons of Troy. 30 

The fire's devouring might he then applied, 
And, groaning, on his lov'd companion call'd : 

"All hail, Patroclus, though in Pluto's realm ! 
All that I promis'd, lo ! I now perform : 
On twelve brave sons of Trojan sires, with thee, 35 

The flames shall feed; but Hector, Priam's son, 
^ Not to the fire, but to the dogs I give." 

Such was Achilles' threat, but him the dogs 



dHARACfEB OF ACHILLES co.VTIXrEl) 203 

Molested not, for Venus, night and clay, 

Daughter of Jove, therav'ning dogs restrained; 

And all the corpse o'erlaid with roseate oil, 

Ambrosial, that though dragg'd along the earth, 

The noble dead might not receive a wound. 5 

Apollo too a cloudy veil from Heav'n 

Spread o'er the plain, and cover'd all the space 

Whore lay the dead, nor let the blazing sun 

The flesh upon his limbs and muscles parch. 

Yet burnt not up Patroclus' fun'ral pyre: 10 

Then a fresh thought Achilles' mind conceived : 
Standing apart, on both the Winds he eall'd. 
Boreas and Zephyrus, and added vows 
Of costly sacrifice: and pouring forth 
Libations from a golden goblet, pray'd 15 

Their presence, that the wood might haste to burn. 
And with the fire consume the dead; his pray'r 
The winds fan Swift Iris heard, and bore it to the Winds. 

the flame. They j n ^ ha jj of gu§ty Zephyms 

Were gather'd round the feast: in haste appearing, 20 

Swift Iris on the stony threshold stood. 

They saw, and rising all, besought her each 

To sit beside him; she with their requests 

Refus'd compliance, and address'd them thus : 

" Xo seat for me; for I o'er th' ocean stream 25 

From hence am bound to ^Ethiopia's shore. 

To share the sacred feast, and hecatombs. 

Which there they offer to th' immortal Gods; 

But, Boreas, thee, and loud voic'd Zephyrus. 

With vows of sacrifice, Achilles calls 30 

To fan the fun'ral pyre, whereon is laid 

Patroclus, mourn'd by all the host of Greece." 
She said, and vanish'd. they, with rushing sound, 

Rose, and before them drove the hurrying clouds: 

Soon o'er the sea they swept; the stirring breeze 35 

The burning of Ruffled the waves; the fertile shores of Troy 
rtttroeius'body. They rea ch'd; and falling on the fun'ral pyre, 

Loud roar'd the crackling flames; thev all night long 



204 THE WORLDS LITERATURE 

With current brisk together fann'd the fire. 

All night Achilles with a double cup 

Drew from a golden bowl the ruddy wine, 

Wherewith, outpour'd, he moisten'd all the earth, 

Still calling on his lost Patroclus' shade. 5 

As mourns a father o'er a youthful son, 

Whose early death hath wrung his parents' hearts; 

So mourn'd Achilles o'er his friend's remains, 

Prostrate beside the py re, and groan'd aloud. 

But when the star of Lucifer appear'd, 10 

The harbinger of light, whom following close 

Spreads o'er the sea the saffron-robed morn, 

Then pal'd the smould'ring fire, and sank the flame; 

And o'er the Thracian sea, that groan'd and heav'd 

Beneath their passage, home the Winds return'd; 15 

And weary, from the pyre a space withdrawn, 

Achilles lay, o'ercome by gentle sleep. 

Anon, awaken'd by the tramp and din 
Of crowds that follow'd Atreus' royal son, 
He sat upright, and thus address'd his speech: 20 

' ' Thou son of Atreus, and ye chiefs of Greece, 
Far as the flames extended, quench we first 
With ruddy^wine the embers of the pyre; 
And of Mencetius' son, Patroclus, next 
With care distinguishing, collect the bones; 25 

Nor are they hard to know; for in the midst 
He lay, while round the edges of the pyre, 
Horses and men commix'd, the rest were burnt. 
The ashes coi- Let these, between a double layer of fat 
s^vedl^an^" Enclos'd, and in a golden urn remain, 30 

urn. Tm j myse if shall i n the tomb be laid; 

And o'er them build a mound, not over-large, 
But of proportions meet; in days to come, 
Ye Greeks, who after me shall here remain, 
Complete the work, and build it broad and high." 35 

Thus spoke Achilles; they his words obey'd: m 

Far as the flames had reach'd, and thickly strown 
The embers lay, they quench'd with ruddy wine; 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 205 

Then tearfully their gentle comrade's bones 

Collected, and with double layers of fat 

Enclos'd, and in a golden urn encas'd ; 

Then in the tent they laid them, overspread 

With veil of linen fair; then meting out 5 

Th' allotted space, the deep foundations laid 

Around the pyre, and o'er them heap'd the earth. 

Their task accomplished, all had now withdrawn ; 

But P.eleus' son the vast assembly stay*d. 

And bade them sit; then prizes of the games, 10 

The funeral Tripods and caldrons from the tents he brought, 
games. ^ n( j no bi e steeds, and mules, and sturdy steers. 

And women fair of form, and iron hoar. 

The prizes, five in number, for the chariot race, 
Achilles first displayed, and the spirited game began. 

Then all at once their whips they rais'd, and urg'd 

By rein, and hand, and voice, their eager steeds. 

They from the ships pursued their rapid course 
The chariot Athwart the distant plain; beneath their chests 
race - Rose like a cloud, or hurricane, the dust; 5 

Loose floated on the breeze their ample manes; 

The cars now skimmed along the fertile ground, 

Now bounded high in air: the charioteers 

Stood up aloft, and ev'ry bosom beat 

With hope of vict'ry; each with eager shout 10 

Cheering his steeds, that scoured the dusty plain. 

Then followed the boxing or the game of the csestus. 

Around his waist he fasten'd first the belt, 

Then gave the well-cut gauntlets for his hands. 

Of wild bull's hide. When both were thus equipp'd, 

Boxing game. Into the centre of tne ™g they stepp'd: 

There, face to face, with sinewy arms uprais'd, 5 
They stood awhile, then clos'd: strong hand with hand 
Mingling, in rapid interchange of blows. 
Dire was the clatter of their jaws; the sweat 
Pour'd forth, profuse, from ev'ry limb. 



206 

Next Achilles displayed the prizes for the wrestlers, 
and Ajax Telamon and Ulysses stepped forward as the 
contestants. 

Creak'd their backbones beneath the tug and strain 
Of those strong arms; their sweat pour'd clown like rain: 
And bloody weals of livid purple hue 

The wreatlmg. J ■ ' ■ * 

Their sides and shoulders streak'd, as sternly they 
For vict'ry and the well-wrought tripod strove. 

The foot-race, the single combat, quoits, the archers' 
game and the hurling of javelins followed in succession, 
and the multitude dispersed for the night, but Achilles 
still mourned over his beloved companion. 

Not on him 
Lighted all-conqu'ring sleep, but to and fro 
Restless he toss'd, and on Patroclus thought, 
His vigor and his courage; all the deeds 
They two together had achieved; the toils, 5 

The perils they had undergone, amid 
The strife of warriors and the angry waves. 
Stirr'd by such mem'ries, bitter tears he shed; 
Now turning on his side, and now again 
Upon his back; then prone upon his face; 10 

Then starting to his feet, along the shore 
All objectless, despairing, would he roam; 
Nor did the morn, o'er sea and shore appearing, 
Unmark'd of him arise; his flying steeds 
Achilles still He then would harness, and, behind the car 15 

moums. Tne corpse f Hector trailing in the dust, 

Thrice make the circuit of Patroclus' tomb; 
Then would he turn within his tent to rest, 
Leaving the prostrate corpse with dust defil'd; 
But from unseemly marks the valiant dead 20 

Apollo guarded, who with pity view'd 
The hero, though in death; and round him threw 
His golden aegis; nor, though dragg'd alone:, 
Allow'd his body to receive a wound, 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 207 

Thus foully did Achilles in his rage 
Misuse the mighty dead; the blessed Gods 
With pitying grief beheld the sight, and urg'd 
That Hermes should by stealth the corpse remove. 

After much deliberation about the redemption of 
Hector's body, Jupiter sent Thetis to Achilles, to urge 
him to take a ransom and give up the body of Hector, to 
which Achilles replied that if such were the will of 
Jove he would accept the ransom and liberate the dead. 
Jupiter likewise dispatched Iris to Priam, who encour- 
aged him to go in person and entreat for the body, and 
despite the laments of his queen, Hecuba, the aged king, 
_. . . ., led bv Hermes, set forth in his chariot, with 

Priam s visit •/ 7 

to Achiiies. splendid offerings of gold and garments, to 
appease his wrath. When they arrived at Achilles' tent, 
the god, having sealed the eyes of the multitude with 
sleep, unbarred the gate, and Priam found Achilles sit- 
ting at the table. Casting himself at his feet, he begged 
for the body of his son. As he spoke there rose in Achil- 
les' breast fond memories of his father, and he touched 
the old man's hand and gently put him by, while they 
both wept together, and the whole camp rang with their 
lamentations. When Achilles had indulged his grief 
he arose and raised the aged father, and addressed 
him with gentle words: 

The tenderness "Alas, what sorrows, poor old man, are thine! 

of Achiiies. How couldst thou venture to the Grecian ships 
Alone, and to the presence of the man 
Whose hand hath slain so many of thy sons, 
Many and brave? an iron heart is thine! 5 

But sit thou on this seat; and in our hearts. 
Though filled with grief, let us that grief suppress; 
For woful lamentation nought avails. 



208 the world's literature 

Such is the thread the Gods for mortals spin, 
To live in woe, while they from cares are free. 
Two coffers lie beside the door of Jove, 
With gifts for man: one good, the other ill; 
To whom from each the Lord of lightning gives, 5 

Him sometimes evil, sometimes good befalls. 
To whom the ill alone, him foul disgrace 
And grinding mis'ry o'er the earth pursue: 
By God and man alike despis'd he roams. 
Thus from his birth the Gods to Peleus gave 10 

Excellent gifts; with wealth and substance bless'd 
Above his fellows; o'er the Myrmidons 
He rul'd with sov'reign sway; and Heav'n bestow'd 
On him, a mortal, an immortal bride. 
Yet this of ill was mingled in his lot, 15 

That in his house no rising race he saw 
Of future Kings; one only son he had, 
One doom'd to early death; nor is it mine 
To tend my father's age; but far from home 
Thee and thy sons in Troy I vex with war. 20 

Much have we heard, too, of thy former wealth; 
Above what Lesbos northward, Macar's seat, 
Contains, and Upper Phrygia, and the shores 
Of boundless Hellespont, 'tis said that thou 
In wealth and number of thy sons was bless'd. 25 

But since on thee this curse the Gods have brought, 
Still round thy city war and murder rage. 
Bear up, nor thus with grief incessant mourn; 
Vain is thy sorrow for thy gallant son! 
Thou canst not raise him, and mayst suffer more." 30 

To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire; 
" Tell me not yet, illustrious chief, to sit, 
While Hector lies, uncar'd for, in the tent; 
But let me quickly go; that with mine eyes 
I may behold my son; and thou accept 35 

The ample treasures which we tender thee: 
Mayst thou enjoy them, and in safety reach 
Thy native land, since thou hast spar'd my life, 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 209 

And bidd'st me still behold the light of Heav'n." 
To whom Achilles thus with stern regard: 
"Old man, incense me not; I mean myself 
To give thee back thy son; for here of late 
Despatch'd by Jove, my Goddess-mother came, 5 

The daughter of the aged Ocean-God; 
And thee too, Priam, well I know, some God 
(I cannot err) hath guided to our ships. 
No mortal, though in vent'rous youth, would dare 
Our camp to enter; nor could hope to pass 10 

Unnotic'd by the watch, nor easily 
Remove the pond'rous bar that guards our doors. 
But stir not up my anger in my grief; 
Lest, suppliant thou be, within my tent 
I brook thee not, and Jove's command transgress." 15 

He said; the old man trembled, and obey'd; 
Then to the door- way, with a lion's spring, 
Achilles rush'd; not unaccompanied; 
"With him Automedon and Alcimus, 

His two attendants, of his followers all, 20 

Next to the lost Patroclus, best-esteem'd; 
They from the yoke the mules and horses loos'd; 
Then led the herald of the old man in, 
And bade him sit; and from the polish'd wain 
The costly ransom took of Hector's head. 25 

Two robes they left, and one well-woven vest, 
To clothe the corpse, and send with honor home. 
Then to the female slaves he gave command 
To wash the body, and anoint with oil, 
Apart, that Priam might not see his son; 30 

Lest his griev'd heart its passion unrestrain'd 
Should utter, and Achilles, rous'd to wrath, 
His suppliant slay, and Jove's command transgress. 
When they had wash'd the body, and with oil 
Anointed, and around it wrapp'd the robe 35 

And vest, Achilles lifted up the dead 
Acwnes gives With his own hands, and laid him on the couch; 

up Hector's 

body. \v hich to the polish'd wain his followers rais'd. 



210 the world's literature 

Then groaning, on his friend by name he caird: 
"Forgive, Patroclus! be not wroth with me, 

If in the realm of darkness thou shouldst hear 

That godlike Hector to his father's arms, 

For no mean ransom, I restore; whereof 5 

A fitting share for thee I set aside. " 
" As the crowning scene of the whole Iliad/' says Symonds, 
The character of " Homer has contrived to make us feel that, after 
cuied oy s dis " all, Achilles is a man. The wrathful and revenge- 
symonds. ^ k ero> w ^ bearded Agamemnon on his throne, 

and who slew the unarmed suppliant Lycaon, relents in pity at a 
father's prayer. Priam, in the tent of Achilles, presents one of 
the most touching pictures to be found in poetry. We know the 
lionine fierceness of Achilles; we know how he has cherished the 
thought of insult to dead Hector as a final tribute to his friend; 
even now he is brooding in his lair over the Trojan corpse. Into 
this lion's den the old king ventures. Instead of springing on 
him, as we might have feared, Achilles is found sublime in gen- 
erosity of soul. Begging Patroclus to forgive him for robbing 
his ghost of this last satisfaction, he relinquishes to Priam the 
body of his son. Yet here there is nothing sentimental. Achilles 
is still the same — swift to anger and haughty, but human 
withal, and tender-hearted to the tears of an enemy at his mercy. 
This is the last mention of Achilles in the Iliad. The hero, 
whom we have seen so noble in his interview with old Priam, 
was destined to die before the walls of Troy, slain by the arrows 
of Paris. His ashes were intermingled with those of Patroclus. 
In their death they were not divided." 

Once again Achilles appears in the Homeric poems 

as a ghost in the Elysian fields, where Ulysses finds 

^ him. To the Ithacan he says: "I would 

Achilles in the J 

Odyssey. rather be a laborer on earth, a hired servant 

of some man of poor estate, than king over all who 
have gone down to death." 

"In Achilles we can study the type of a by-gone, infinitely 
valuable period of the world's life, a type of that age in which 



"CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 211 

the human spirit was merging from the confused passions and 
sordid needs of barbarism into the higher emotions and more re- 
fined aspirations of civilization. Of this dawn, this boyhood of 
humanity, Achilles is the fierce and fiery hero. He is the ideal 
of a race not essentially moral or political, of a nation which sub- 
ordinated morals to art, and politics to personality; and even of 
that race he idealizes the youth rather than the manhood. In 
some respects Ulysses is a truer representative of the delicate and 
subtle spirit which survived all changes in the Greeks. But 
Achilles, far more than Ulysses, is an impersonation of the Hel- 
lenic genuis, superb in its youthfulness. doomed to immature 
decay, yet brilliant at every stage of its brief career. 

To exaggerate the importance of Achilles in the education 
influence of of the Greeks, who used the Iliad as their Bible, 

Achilles on sub- _ . . . . . 

sequent heroes, and were keenly sensitive to all artistic influences. 
would be difficult. He was the incarnation of their chivalry, 
the fountain of their sense of honor.'' 

11 Nearly all the historians of Greece have failed to insist upon 
the fact that fraternity in arms played for the Greek race the 
same part as the idealization of women for the knighthood 
of feudal Europe. Greek mythology and history are full of tales 
of friendship, which can only be paralleled by the story of David 
and Jonathan in our Bible." " The chivalry of Hellas found its 
motive force in friendship rather than in the love of women: and 
the motive force of all chivalry is a generous, soul-exalting, un- 
selfish passion. The fruit which friendship bore among the 
Greeks was courage in the face of danger, indifference to* life 
when honor was at stake, patriotic ardor, the love of liberty, and 
lion-hearted rivalry in battle." 

'"The humanity of Homer was purer, larger and more sane 
than that of his posterity among the Hellenes. Still, it may be 
worth while suggesting that Homer, perhaps, intended in Hector 
Achilles con- and Achilles to contrast domestic love with the love 

trasted with 

Hector. f comrades. The tenderness of Hector for Andro- 

mache, side by side with the fierce passion of Achilles, seems to 
account at least in some measure for the preference felt for 
Hector in the Middle Ages. Achilles controlled the Greek imag- 
ination. Hector attracted the sympathies of mediaeval chivalry. 



212 the world's literature 

and took his place upon the list of knightly worthies. Masculine 
love was Hellenic. The love of idealized womanhood . was Ro- 
mantic. Homer, the sovereign poet, understood both passions of 
the human heart, delineating the one in Achilles without effem- 
inacy, the other in Hector without sickly sentiment. 

It is not till we reach Alexander the Great that we find how 
truly Achilles was the type of the Greek people, and to what 
extent he had controlled their growth. Alexander expressed in 
real life that ideal which in Homer's poetry had been displayed 
by Achilles. Alexander set himself to imitate Achilles. His 
tutor, Lysimachus, found favor in the eyes of the royal family of 
Macedon by comparing Philip to Peleus, his son, to Achilles, 
and himself to Phoenix. On all of his expeditions Alexander 
carried with him a copy of the Iliad, calling it ' a perfect porta- 
ble treasure of military virtue.' It was in the spirit of the 
Homeric age that he went forth to conquer Asia. And when he 
reached the plain of Troy it was to the tomb of Achilles that he 
influence of paid special homage. There he poured libations to 

Achilles on , .-,,■'■,, .--,,. , -™ 

Alexander. the mighty ghost, anointed his grave, and, as Plu- 
tarch says, ' ran naked about his tomb, and crowned it with gar- 
lands, declaring how happy he esteemed him in having, while he 
lived, so faithful a friend, and, when he was dead, so famous a 
poet to proclaim his actions.' We have seen that the two chief 
passions of Achilles were his anger and his love. In both of 
these Alexander followed him. The passage just quoted from 
Plutarch hints at the envy with which Alexander regarded the 
friendship of Achilles and Patroclus. In his own life he enter- 
tained for Hephaestion a like passion. When Hephaestion died 
of a fever at Ecbatana, Alexander exaggerated the fury and the 
anguish of the son of Peleus. He went forth and slew a whole 
tribe as a sacrifice to the soul of his comrade. He threw down 
the battlements of neighboring cities, and forbade all signs of 
merry-making in his camp. Meanwhile he refused food and 
comfort until an oracle from Amnion ordained that divine honors 
should be paid Hephaestion. Then Alexander raised a pyre, like 
that of Patroclus in the Iliad, except that the pyre of Hephaestion 
cost 10,000 talents, and was adorned with all the splendor of 
Greek art in its prime. Here the Homeric ceremonies were per- 



CHARACTER OF ACHILLES CONTINUED 213 

formed. Games and races took place; then, like Achilles, having 
paid this homage to his friend, of bloodshed, costly gifts and 
obsequies, Alexander at last rested from his grief. In this ex- 
travagance of love for a friend we see the direct workings of the 
Iliad on the mind of the Macedonian king. But the realities of 
life fall far short of the poet's dream. Neither the love nor the 
sorrow of Alexander for Hephaestion is so touching as the love 
and sorrow of Achilles for Patroclus. 

In his wrath, again, Alexander imitated and went beyond his 
model. His fiery temper added indomitable energy to all he did 
or felt. In a few years he swept Asia, destroying kingdoms, and 
founding cities that still bear his name; and though his rage 
betrayed him now and then into insane acts, he, like Achilles, 
was not wholly without the guidance of Athene. In both we 
have the spectacle of a gigantic nature moved by passions: yet 
both are controlled by reason, not so much by the reflective 
understanding, as by an innate sense of what is great and noble. 
Alexander was Aristotle's pupil. In his best moments, in his 
fairest and most solid actions, the spirit of Aristotle's teaching 
ruled him and attended him, as Achilles was ruled and attended 
by Pallas. Again, in generosity. Alexander recalls Achilles. 
His treatment of the wife and daughters of Darius reminds us 
of the reception of Priam by the son of Peleus. His entertain- 
ment of Stateira was not unworthy of a queen. In the last 
place, Alexander, like Achilles, was always young. Like 
Achilles, he died young, and exists for us as an immortal youth. 
This youthfulness is one of the peculiar attributes of a Greek 
hero, one of the distinguishing features of Greek sculpture, in a 
word, the special mark of the Greek race. ; O Solon ! Solon ! ' 
said the priest of iEgypt, *' you Greeks are always boys ! ' 
Achilles and Alexander are forever adolescent. Yet. after all is 
said, Alexander fell far below his prototype in beauty and sub- 
limity. He was nothing more than a heroic man. Achilles was 
the creation of a poet's brain, of a nation's mythology. The one 
was ideal in its freshness and its freedom. The other was the 
real, dragged in the mire of the world, and enthralled by the 
necessities of human life. 



214 the world's literature 

It is very difficult, by any process of criticism, to define the 
impression of greatness and glory which the character of Achilles 
Achiiies a world leaves upon the mind. There is in him a kind of 
spirit. magnetic fascination, something indescribable. 

They are not always the most noble or the most admirable 
natures which exert this influence over their fellow-creatures. 
The Emperor Napoleon and our own Byron had each, perhaps, a 
portion of this Achilleian personality. Men of their stamp sway 
the soul by their prestige, by their personal beauty and grandeur, 
by the concentrated intensity of their character, and by the 
fatality which seems to follow them. To Achilles, to Alexander, 
to Napoleon, we cannot apply the rules of our morality. It is, 
therefore, impossible for us, who must aim first at being good 
citizens, careful in our generation, and subordinate to the laws 
of society around us, to admire them without a reservation. 
Yet, after all is said, a great and terrible glory does rest upon 
their heads; and though our sentiments of propriety may be 
offended by some of their actions, our sense of what is awful and 
sublime is satisfied by the contemplation of them. No one 
should delude us into thinking that true culture does not come 
from the impassioned study of everything that is truly great, 
however eccentric and at variance with our own mode of life. 
Greatness, of whatever species it may be, is always elevating and 
spirit-stirring. When we listen to the Eroica Symphony, and 
remember that that master-work of music was produced by the 
genius of Beethoven, brooding over the thoughts of Achilles in 
the Iliad, and of Napoleon on the battlefields of Lombardy, we 
may feel how abyss cries to abyss, and how all forms of human 
majesty meet and sustain each other." 



CHARACTER OF ULYSSES 215 



CHAPTER IX. 

The Character of Ulysses and the Story of the Odyssey. 

" Since Achilles seems everywhere to tread upon the bounds 
of the preterhuman," says Gladstone, "it might seem impossible 
to produce another leading character, who must as such be more 
or less his rival. But the Ul} T sses is drawn with such incompar- 
able art, that at no one point does he seem like an inferior 
Achilles. Achilles always, Ulysses never, touches on the super- 
uiysses com- human. He is always thoroughly human. Colossal 

pared with .-■-'- 

Achiiies. grandeur is the basis of one character, a boundless 

diversity and many-sidedness, is the spell that gives the other its 
fascinating power. The adjective potus, many or manifold, is 
the basis of nearly all the characteristic words appropriated to 
the character of Ulysses; it is curious that no single epithet 
containing that word is ever applied to Achilles. The variety of 
Achilles was in a magnificent and profuse display of gifts, 
whether of taste, fancy, intellect or emotion. In Ulysses- an 
equally powerful and more versatile intellect works with the 
strictest reference to a practical end, and works in the precise 
way best fitted to attain it. The splendor of the reply of Achilles 
to the Envoys could not be meant to convert them; the stinging 
and compressed oration of Ulysses in Scherie, so marvellous in 
force and so exact in justice, utterly extinguishes his adversary, 
who afterwards makes his apology and reparation. The vast 
power of Achilles runs to waste in punishing his countrymen, by 
his withdrawal, for a sin, which at worst they only tolerated. 
The power of Ulysses never runs to waste, never fails to reach its 
mark. Largeness of range marks each alike; but while Achilles 
exults in arms and in ornaments, Ulysses unites to the highest 
qualities of a statesman and a warrior, not only extraordinary, 
excellence in the race, the quoit, the boxing and the wrestling 
match, but he is ready to mow, or to plough a field, against a 
leader of the suitors. The character of Achilles is rich as a 
museum; that of Ulysses as a toolshop." 



216 THE AVORLD^S LITERATURE 

" The subject of the Odyssey gives Homer the opportunity of 
setting forth the domestic character of Ulysses, in his profound 
attachment to wife, child, and home, in such a way as to adorn 
not only the hero, but his age and race. To personal beauty he 
does not lay special claim, and he is denounced by Polyphemus 
as a poor creature to look at, though when he sate, he was more 
majestic than Menelaus. A combination of daring with pru- 
dence forms the staple of his action. The Greek, in general, was 
with Homer what we term ' a man of business. ' Ulysses was a 
little more. His prudence, so commended by Athene, leans 
toward craft, though not so as to impair his general integrity of 
aim." 

Ulysses was the king of Ithaca, a small and rugged island on 
the western coast of Greece. He departed from home while his 
son Telemachus was yet a babe. When Troy was taken, ten 
years afterward, he started for Ithaca, but being pursued with 
unceasing hatred by Neptune, he wandered about ten years before 
reaching his home. His first adventure was in Thrace where he 
attacked and plundered a city, being at last repulsed. Then he 
sailed to the southern point of Greece, but in attempting to double 
Cape Malea was met by malicious winds which drove his ships 
about for ten days, and on the tenth they touched the land of the 
Lotus Eaters, whose food was of flowers which cause forgetful- 
ness. From this country Ulysses rescued his companions and 
they went on till they came to the land of the Cyclops, a people 
of giants living near Mount Etna in Sicily. Here Ulysses de- 
stroyed the eye of Polyphemus, the most famous of those giants, 
the son of Poseidon (or Neptune), God oj" the Sea. On this event 
hinged all of his subsequent fortunes. To avenge the act, Neptune 
drove him about for ten years. The story of the blinding of the 
giant exists in the shape of a fairy tale among races who never 
The plot of the near( ^ of Homer, which seems to prove that the 
termfned a by e " author of the Odyssey composed his epic out of a 
Langhftiieir great store of tradition already existing. From the 
tofhe^traifs- land of the Cyclops Ulysses and his companions 
sailed to the Isle of .ZEolus, where they abode a 
month. The king of the island then gave Ulysses a bag in which 
were all the winds except the one which was to waft the heroes 



CHARACTER OF ULYSSES 217 

home. The comrades of Ulysses opened the bag while he slept, 
and the winds rushing out, they were all blown back to the island 
Whence they were dismissed with severe rebukes. Their next ad- 
venture was in Xo-Man's-Land also, where all the fleet was de- 
stroyed save one ship with which they escaped to the island oi 
Circe. This enchantress turned part of the crew r into swine, but 
they were redeemed by Ulysses aided by Hermes. A year was 
spent at the isle of Circe, when Ulysses prayed to be sent home, 
and Circe commanded them to go to Hades to consult the ghost 
of an old prophet concerning the route to Ithaca. From this 
prophet, Teiresias, Ulysses learned that he must avoid injuring 
the sacred cattle of the sun as he passed the island of Thrinacia. 
Returning to Circe, Ulysses was warned by the goddess of the 
dangers to be met, and he set forth with his friends. They 
evaded the Sirens, and the Clashing Rocks, but being overcome 
with hunger at the island of Thrinacia, devoured several of the 
sacred cattle, for which offence they were all shipwrecked except 
Ulysses. Ulysses floated about on a raft for ten days, and then 
reached the island of the goddess Calypso, who detained him 
eight years. In Ithaca, matters went on well enough for a few 
years after the fall of Troy, when the younger men of the island 
began to woo Penelope, the wife of the absent hero, and to vex 
Telemachus, his son. The wooers grew so importunate that they 
took up their abode at her palace, devouring her substance and 
commanding her to choose a husband from their number, and 
Penelope to gain time, promised to make her choice when she 
had finished weaving a web which she secretly unraveled every 
night, 

At the end of these events the action of the Odyssey begins 
and occupies about six weeks. 

The time had come when Ulysses was to free his home, re- 
cover his kingdom, and avenge himself on the wooers. The first 
The last six book of the Odyssey opens with a prayer to Zeus by 

\V6€iks of XTlVS" 

ses' adventures Athene, that Ulvsses mav be delivered. For this pur- 

as given in the -^ . _ _ .,.-,! i 

last twelve pose Hermes is to be sent to Calvpso to bid her release 

books of the 

Odyssey. him, while Athene, in the form of Mentor, shall 

cause Telemachus to go in search of his father. The first four 
books of the Odyssey and the first six days of its action cover the 



218 the world's LITERATURE 

adventures of the youth. The fifth book (seventh day) wit- 
nesses the departure of Ulysses from Calypso's isle. He sails 
about for eighteen days, and on the twenty-ninth from the be- 
ginning of the action lands in Scheria, where he is kindly enter- 
tained until the thirty-fifth day. The meeting of Ulysses on this 
island with Nausicaa, the king's daughter, is one of the most 
artistic points in the poem. It is here that Ulysses recounts to 
the king and queen the adventures he had passed through during 
the first two years of his wanderings. On the thirty-fifth day he 
is conveyed to Ithaca, where he learns that his wife is beset with 
suitors. Six days more are spent in meeting the emergencies of 
the case, getting rid of the suitors and settling down once Thore 
to home life. This requires twelve books, or a half of the whole 
poem, and is replete with vivid scenes, the transformation of 
Ulysses into an old man, so that he can study the situation un- 
recognized, his revealing himself to his son, his recognition by 
the dog Argus, his combat with a beggar, his bending of the 
great bow, and his attack on the suitors at the last banquet. 
The poem closes with the recognition of his wife and father. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 219 



CHAPTER X. 

* Selections from the Odyssey. 

THE SITUATION IN ULYSSES' HOME AS FOUND IN BOOK I. 

" Then in came the lordly wooers, and they sat them down in 
rows on chairs and on high seats, and henchmen poured water 
on their hands, and maidservants piled wheaten bread by them 
The character m baskets, and pages crowned the bowls with 
of the wooers. drinkj and they stretched forth their hands upon 
the good cheer spread before them. Now when the wooers had 
put from them the desire of meat and drink, they minded them 
of other things, even of the song and dance; for these are the 
crown of the feast. And a henchman placed a beauteous lyre in 
the hands of Phemius; who was minstrel to the wooers, despite 
his will. Yea, and as he touched the lyre he lifted up his voice 
in sweet song. 

But Telema'chus spake unto grey-eyed Athene, holding his 
head close to her that those others might not hear: 'Dear 
stranger, wilt thou of a truth be wroth at the word that I shall 
The relation of say? Yonder men verily care for such things as 

Telemachus to J . _ * , _ , 

Athene. tnese, the lyre and song, lightly, as they that devour 

the livelihood of another without atonement, of that man whose 
white bones, it may be, lie wasting in the rain upon the main- 
land, or the billow rolls them in the brine. Were but these men 
to see him returned to Ithaca, they all would pray rather for 
greater speed of foot than for gain of gold and raiment. But 
now he hath perished, even so, an evil doom, and for us is no com- 
fort, no, not though any of earthly men should say that he will 
come again. Gone is the day of his returning! " 

PENELOPE'S WEB. THE SCENE AS GIVEN IN BOOK II. 

"'Telemachus, proud of speech and unrestrained in fury, 
what is this thou hast said to put us to shame, and wouldest 
fasten on us reproach ? Behold the fault is not in the Achaean 

*Butcher and Lang's translation. 



220 THE WORLD*S LITERATURE 

wooers, but in thine own mother, for she is the craftiest of 
one of the suit- women. For it is now the third year, and the fourth 

ors speaks in . . . ,.,*., 

their defense, is fast going by, since she began to deceive the minds 
of the Achaeans in their breasts. She gives hope to all, and 
makes promises to every man, and sends them messages, but her 
mind is set on other things. And she hath devised in her heart 
this wile besides; she set up in her halls a mighty web, fine of 
woof and very wide, whereat she would weave, and anon she 
spake among us: 

"Ye princely youths, my wooers, now that the goodly 
Reply of Ulysses is dead, do ye abide patiently, how eager 

the wooers. soever to speed on this marriage of mine, till I finish 
the robe. I would not that the threads perish to no avail, even 
this shroud for the hero Laertes, against the day when the 
ruinous doom shall bring him low, of death that lays men at 
their length. So shall none of the Achaean women in the land 
count it blame in me, as well might be, were he to lie without a 
winding sheet, a man that had gotten great possessions." 

1 So spake she, and our high hearts consented thereto. So 
then in the day time she would weave the mighty web, and 
in the night unravel the same, when she had let place the 
torches by her. Thus for the space of three years she hid the 
thing by craft and beguiled the minds of the Achaeans; but 
when the fourth year arrived and the seasons came round, 
then at the last one of her women who knew all declared it, 
and we found her unravelling the splendid web. Thus she 
finished it perforce and sore against her will. But as for thee, 
the wooers make thee answer thus, that that thou mayest know 
it in thine own heart, thou and all the Achaeans ! Send away 
thy mother, and . bid her be married to whomsoever her father 
commands, and whoso is well pleasing unto her. But if she will 
continue for long to vex the sons of the Achaeans, pondering in 
her heart those things that Athene hath given her beyond 
women, knowledge of all fair handiwork, yea, and cunning wit, 
and wiles — so be it ! Such wiles as hers we have never yet 
heard that any even of the women of old did know. Not one of 
these in the imaginations of their hearts was like unto Penelope, 
yet herein at least her imagining was not good. For in despite 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 221 

of her the wooers will devour thy living and thy substance, so 
long as she is steadfast in such purpose as the gods now put 
within her breast: great renown for herself she winneth, but for 
thee regret for thy much livelihood. But we will neither go 
to our own lands, nor otherwhere, till she marry that man whom 
she will of the Achaeans.' 

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying : ' Antinous, 
I may in no wise thrust forth from the house, against her will. 
the woman that bear me, that reared me: while as for my father 
he is abroad on the earth, whether he be alive or dead. ^lore- 
over it is hard for me to make heavy restitution to Icarius. as 
needs I must, if of mine own will I send my mother away. For 
I shall have evil at his hand, at the hand of her father, and 
Telemachus some god will give me more besides, for my mother 

replies to 

the suitor. will call down the dire Avengers as she departs from 
the house, and I shall have blame of men: surely then I will 
never speak this word. Nay, if your own heart, even yours is 
indignant, quit ye my halls, and busy yourselves with other 
feasts, eating your own substance, and going in turn from house 
to house. But if ye deem this a likelier and a better thing, that 
one man's goods should perish without atonement, then waste ye 
as ye will : and I will call upon the everlasting gods, if haply 
Zeus may grant that acts of recompense be made : so should ye 
hereafter perish in the halls without atonement." 

So spake Telemachus, and in answer to his prayer did Zeus, 
of the far-borne voice, send forth two eagles in flight, from on 
high, from the mountain-crest. Awhile they flew as fleet as the 
blasts of the wind, side by side with straining of their pinions. 
But when they had now reached the mid assembly, the place of 
many voices, there they wheeled about and flapped their strong 
The eagle as a wings, and looked down upon the heads of all, and 
bird of omen, destruction was ill their gaze. Then tore they with 
their talons each the other's cheeks and neck on every side, and 
so sped to the right across the dwellings and the city of the 
people. And the men marvelled at the birds when they had 
sight of them, and pondered in their hearts the things that 
should come to pass. 



222 the world's literature 

the departure of ulysses from calypso's isle as given in 

BOOK V. 

And Zeus, gatherer of the clouds, spake to Hermes, his dear 
son: 'Hermes, forasmuch as even in all else thou art our herald, 
tell unto the nymph of the braided tresses my unerring counsel, 
even the return of the patient Ulysses, how he is to come to his 
home, with no furtherance of gods or of mortal men. Nay, he 
shall sail on a well-bound raft, in sore distress, and on the twen- 
tieth day arrive at fertile Scheria, even at the land of the Phaea- 
cians, who are near of kin to the gods. And they shall give him 
all worship heartily as to a god, and send him on his way in a 
Hermes, mes- sni P to nis own dear country, with gifts of bronze 
godl?the f spirit an ^ gold, and raiment in plenty, much store, such 
me^o^sky'or as never would Ulysses have won for himself out of 
firmament. TlQy yea? t h 0U gh he had returned unhurt with the 
share of the spoil that fell to him. On such wise is he fated to 
see his friends, and come to his high-roofed home and his own 
country.' 

So spake he, nor heedless was the messenger, the slayer of 
Argos. Straightway he bound beneath his feet his lovely golden 
sandals, that wax not old, that bare him alike over the wet sea 
and over the limitless land, swift as the breath of the wind. And 
he took the wand wherewith he lulls the eyes of whomso he will, 
while others again he even wakes from out of sleep. With this 
rod in his hand flew the strong slayer of Argos. Above Pieria he 
passed and leapt from the upper air into the deep. Then he sped 
along the wave like the cormorant, that chaseth the fishes through 
the perilous gulfs of the unharvested sea, and wetteth his thick 
plumage in the brine. Such like did Hermes ride upon the press 
of the waves, But when he had now reached that far-off isle, he 
went forth from the sea of violet blue to get him up into the land, 
till he came to a great cave, wherein dwelt the nymph of the 
braided tresses: and he found her within. And on the hearth 
there was a great fire burning, and from afar through the isle was 
smelt the fragrance of cleft cedar blazing, and of sandal wood. 
And the nymph within was singing with a sweet voice as she 
fared to and fro before the loom, and wove with a shuttle of gold. 
And round about the cave there was a wood blossoming, alder and 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 223 

poplar and sweet -smelling cypress. And therein roosted birds 
long of wing, owls and falcons and chattering sea-crows, which 
have their business in the waters. 

And lo. there about the hollow cave trailed a gadding garden 
vine, all rich with clusters. And fountains four set orderly were 
running with clear water, hard by one another, turned each to 
his own course. And all around soft meadows bloomed of violets 
and parsley, yea. even a deathless god who came thither might 
wonder at the sight and be glad at heart. There the messenger, 
the slayer of Argos. stood and wondered. Now when he had 
Hermes finds gazed at all with wonder, anon he went into the 
explains h?s d wide cave; nor did Calypso, that fair goddess, fail 
errand. tQ k now ^ m w ^ eil ^q saw him face to face; for the 

gods used not to be strange one to another, the immortals, not 
though one have his habitation far away. But he found not 
Ulysses, the greathearted, within the cave, who sat weeping on 
the shore even as aforetime, straining his soul with tears and 
groans and griefs, and as he wept he looked wistfully over the 
unharvested deep. And Calypso, that fair goddess questioned 
Hermes, when she had made him sit on a bright shining seat: 

' Wherefore, I pray thee, Hermes, of the golden wand, hast 
thou come hither, worshipful and welcome, whereas as of old. 
thou wert not wont to visit me? Tell me all thy thought; my 
heart is set on fulfilling it, if fulfil it I may, and if it hath been 
fulfilled in the counsel of fate. But now follow me further, that 
I may set before thee the entertainment of strangers.' 

Therewith the goddess spread a table with ambrosia and set- 
it by him, and mixed the ruddy nectar. So the messenger, the 
slayer of Argos, did eat and drink. Now after he had supped 
and comforted his soul with food, at the last he answered, and 
spake to her on this wise: 

• Thou makest question of me on my coming, a goddess of a 
god, and I will tell thee this my saying truly, at thy command. 
'Twas Zeus that bade me come hither, by no will of mine; nay, 
who of his free w r ill would speed over such a wondrous space of 
brine, whereby is no city of mortals that do sacrifice to the gods, 
and offer choice hecatombs ? But surely it is in no wise possible 
for another god to go beyond or to make void the purpose of Zeus. 



224 the world's literature 

lord of the aegis. He saith that thou hast with thee a man most 
wretched beyond his fellows, beyond those men that round the 
burg of Priam for nine years fought, and in the tenth year sacked 
the city and departed homeward. Yet on the way they sinned 
against Athene, and she raised upon them an evil blast and long 
waves of the sea. Then all the rest of his good company was 
lost, but it came to pass that the wind bare and the wave brought 
him hither. And now Zeus biddeth thee send him hence with 
what speed thou mayest, for it is not ordained that he die away 
from his friends, but rather it is his fate to look on them even 
yet, and to come to his high-roofed home and his own country.' 

So spake he, and Calypso, that fair goddess, shuddered and 
uttered her voice, and spake unto him winged words: 'Hard are 
ye gods and jealous exceeding, who ever grudge goddesses openly 
to mate with a mortal.' 

Even so when rosy-fingered Dawn took Orion for her lover, 
ye gods that live at ease were jealous thereof, till chaste Artemis, 
of the golden throne, slew him in Ortygia with the visitation of 
her gentle shafts. 

So again ye gods now grudge that a mortal man should dwell 
with me. Him I saved as he went all alone bestriding the keel 
of a bark, for that Zeus had crushed and cleft his swift ship with 
calypso's re- a white bolt in the midst of the wine-dark deep. 

gret at parting 

with Ulysses. There all the rest of his good company was lost, but 
it came to pass that the wind bare and the wave brought him 
hither. And him have I loved and cherished, and I said that I 
would make him to know not death and age for ever. Yet for- 
asmuch as it is in no wise possible for another god to go beyond, 
or make void the purpose of Zeus, lord of the aegis, let him away 
over the unharvested seas, if the summons and the bidding be of 
Zeus. But I will give him no despatch, not I, for I have no ships 
by me with oars, nor company to bear him on his way over the 
broad back of the sea. Yet will I be forward to put this in his 
mind, and will hide nought, that all unharmed he may come to 
his own country.' 

Then the messenger, the slayer of Argos, answered her: ' Yea, 
speed him now upon his path and have regard unto the wrath 
of Zeus, lest haply he be angered and bear hard on thee hereafter. ' 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 225 

Therewith the great slayer of Argos departed, but the lady 
nymph went on her way to the great-hearted Ulysses, when she 
had heard the message of Zeus. And there she found him sit- 
ting on the shore, and his eyes were never dry of tears, and his 
sweet life was ebbing away as he mourned for his return; for 
the nymph found no favor in his sight. And he would sit on 
the rocks and on the beach, straining his soul with tears, and 
groans, and griefs, and through his tears he would look wistfully 
over the unharvested deep. So standing near him that fair god- 
dess spake to him: 

' Hapless man, sorrow no more, I pray thee, in this isle, nor 
let thy good life waste away, for even now will I send thee hence 
with all my heart. Nay, arise and cut long beams, and fashion 
a wide raft with the axe, and lay deckings high thereupon, that 
The goddess it may bear thee over the misty deep. And I will 

helps him to ,.,-.-., -. 

depart. place therein bread and water, and red wine to thy 

heart's desire, to keep hunger far away. And I will put raiment 
upon thee, and send a fair gale in thy wake, that so thou may- 
est come all unharmed to thine own country, if indeed it be the 
good pleasure of the gods who hold wide heaven, who are stronger 
than I am, both to will and to do.' 

So she spake, and the steadfast goodly Ulysses shuddered, 
and uttering his voice, spake to her winged words: ' Herein, 
goddess, thou hast plainly some other thought, and in no wise 
my furtherance, for that thou biddest me to cross in a raft the 
great gulf of the sea so dread and difficult, which not even the 
swift gallant ships pass over rejoicing in the breeze of Zeus. 
Nor would I go aboard a raft to displeasure thee, unless thou 
wilt deign, O goddess, to swear a great oath not to plan any hid- 
den guile to mine own hurt.' 

So spake he, and Calypso, the fair goddess, smiled, and ca- 
ressed him with her hand, and spake and hailed him: 

' Knavish thou art, and no weakling in wit, thou that hast 
conceived and spoken such a word. Let earth be now witness 
hereto, and the wide heaven above, and that water of the Styx 
that flows below, the greatest oath and the most terrible to the 
blessed gods, that I will not plan any hidden guile to thine own 
hurt. Nay, but my thoughts are such, and such will be my 



226 the world's literature 

counsel, as I would devise for myself, if ever so sore a need came 
over me. For I too have a righteous mind, and my heart within 
me is not of iron, but pitiful even as thine.' 

Therewith the fair goddess led the way quickly, and he fol- 
lowed hard in the steps of the goddess. And they reached the 
hollow cave, the goddess and the man; so he sat him down upon 
the chair whence Hermes had arisen, and the nymph placed by 
him all manner of food to eat and drink, such as is meat for men. 
As for her, she sat over against divine Ulysses, and the hand- 
maids placed b}' her ambrosia and nectar. So they put forth 
their hands upon the good cheer set before them. But after 
they had taken their fill of meat and drink, Calypso, the fair 
goddess, spake first and said: 

' Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Ulysses of many devices, 
so it is indeed thy wish to get thee home to thine own dear coun- 
try even in this hour? Good fortune go with thee even so! Yet 
didst thou know in thine heart what a measure of suffering thou 
art ordained to fulfil, or ever thou reach thine own country, here, 
even here, thou wouldst abide, and wouldst never taste of death, 
though thou longest to see thy wife, for whom thou hast ever a 
desire day by day. Not in sooth that I avow me to be less noble 
than she in form or fashion, for it is in no wise meet that mortal 
women should match them with immortals, in shape and come- 
liness.' 

And Ulysses of many counsels answered, and spake unto her: 
' Be not wroth with me hereat, goddess and queen. Myself T 
know it well, how wise Penelope is meaner to look upon than 
thou, in comeliness and stature. But she is mortal, and thou 
knowest not age nor death. Yet even so, I wish and long day 
by day to fare homeward and see the day of my returning. Yea, 
and if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so I 
will endure, with a heart within me patient of affliction. For 
already have I suffered full much, and much have I toiled in 
perils of waves and war; let this be added to the tale of those.' 

So spake he, and the sun sank and darkness came on. 

So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, anon 
Ulysses put on him a mantle and doublet, and the nymph clad 
her in a great shining robe, light of woof and gracious, and 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 227 

about her waist she cast a fair golden girdle, and a veil withal 
upon her head. Then she considered of the sending of Ulysses, 
the great-hearted. She gave him a great axe, fitted to his grasp, 
an axe of bronze, double-edged, and with a goodly handle of 
olive wood, fastened well. Next she gave him a polished adze, 
and she led the way to the border of the isle where tall trees 
grew, alder and poplar, and pine that reacheth unto heaven, 
seasoned long since and sere, that might lightly float for him. 
Xow after she had shown him where the tall trees grew, Calypso, 
the fair goddess, departed homeward. And he set to cutting 
timber, and his work went busily. Twenty trees in all he felled, 
and then trimmed them with the axe of bronze, and deftly 
smoothed them, and over them made straight the line. Mean- 
while Calypso, the fair goddess, brought him augers, so he bored 
each piece and jointed them together, and then made all fast with 
uiysses builds a trenails and dowels. Wide as is the floor of a broad 

ship of burden, which some men well skilled in car- 
pentry may trace him out, of such beam did Ulysses fashion 
his broad raft. And thereat he wrought, and set up the deck- 
ings, fitting them to the close-set uprights, and finished them off 
with long gunwales, and therein he set a mast, and a yard-arm 
fitted thereto, and moreover he made him a rudder to guide the 
craft. And he fenced it with wattled osier withies from stem to 
stern, to be a bulwark against the wave, and piled up wood to 
back them. Meanwhile Calypso, the fair .goddess, brought him 
web of cloth to make him sails; and these, too, he fashioned 
very skilfully. And he made fast therein braces and halyards 
and sheets, and at last he pushed the raft with levers down to 
the fair salt sea. 

It was the fourth day when he had accomplished all. And. 
lo on the fifth, the fair Calypso sent him on his way from the 
island, when she had bathed him and clad him in fragrant attire. 
Moreover, the goddess placed on board the ship two skins, one of 
dark wine, and another, a great one, of water, and corn too in a 
wallet, and she set therein a store of dainties to his heart's desire, 
and sent forth a warm and gentle wind to blow. And goodly 

Ulysses rejoiced as he set his sails to the breeze. So 

The departure. ** J 

he sate and cunningly guided the craft with the 



228 the world's literature 

helm, nor did sleep fall upon his eyelids, as he viewed the Pleiads 
and Bootes, that setteth late, and the Bear, which they likewise 
call the Wain, which turneth ever in one place, and keepeth 
watch upon Orion, and alone hath no part in the baths of Ocean. 
This star, Calypso, the fair goddess, bade him to keep ever on the 
left as he traversed the deep. Ten days and seven he sailed 
traversing the deep, and on the eighteenth day appeared the 
shadowy hills of the land of the Phaeacians, at the point where 
it \&y nearest to him; and it showed like a shield in the misty 
deep. 

Now the lord, the shaker of the earth, on his way from the 
Ethiopians espied him afar off from the mountains of the Solymi: 
even thence he saw Ulysses as he sailed over the deep; and he 
was yet more angered in spirit, and wagging his head he com- 
muned with his own heart. ' Lo now, it must be that the gods 
He sails about at the last have changed their purpose concerning 

for seventeen . . 

days. Ulysses, while I was away among the Ethiopians. 

And now he is nigh to the Phaeacian land, where it is ordained 
that he escape the great issues of the woe which hath come 
upon him. But, methinks, that even yet I will drive him far 
enough in the path of suffering.' 

With that he gathered the clouds and troubled the waters of 
the deep, grasping his trident in his hands; and he roused all 
storms of all manner of winds, and shrouded in clouds the land 
and sea; and down sped night from heaven. The East Wind 
and the South Wind clashed, and the stormy West, and the North, 
that is born in the bright air rolling onward a great wave. Then 
were the knees of Ulysses loosened and his heart melted, and 
heavily he spake to his own great spirit: 

'Oh, wretched man that I am! what is to befall me at the last? 
I fear that indeed the goddess spoke all things truly, who said 
that I should fill up the measure of sorrow on the deep, or ever I 
came to mine own country; and lo, all these things have an end. 
In such wise doth Zeus crown the wide heaven with clouds, and 
hath troubled the deep, and the blasts rush on of all the winds; 
yea, now is utter doom assured me. Thrice blessed those Danaans, 
yea, four times blessed, who perished on a time in wide Troy-land, 
doing a pleasure to the sons of Atreus! Would to God that I too 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 229 

had died, and met my fate on that day when the press of Trojans 
cast their bronze-shod spears upon me, fighting for the body of 
the son of Peleus! So should I have gotten my dues of burial, 
and the Achaeans would have spread my fame; but now it is my 
fate to be overtaken by a pitiful death.' 

Even as he spake, the great wave smote down upon him, driv- 
ing on in terrible wise, that the raft reeled again. And far there- 
from he fell, and lost the helm from his hand; and the fierce blast 
of the jostling winds came and brake his mast in the midst, and 
sail and vard-arm fell afar into the deep. Lon^ 

The ship-wreck. - r ° 

time the water kept him under, nor could he speedily 
rise from beneath the rush of the might y wave; for the garments 
hung heavy which fair Calypso gave him. But late and at length 
he came up, and spat forth from his mouth the bitter salt water, 
which ran down in streams from his head. Yet even so forgat 
he not his raft, for all his wretched plight, but made a spring 
after it in the waves, and clutched it to him, and sat in the midst 
thereof, avoiding the issues of death; and the great wave swept 
it hither and thither along the stream. And as the Xorth Wind 
in the harvest tide sweeps the thistle-down along the plain, and 
close the tufts cling each to other, even so the winds bare the raft 
hither and thither along the main. Now the South would toss it 
to the North to carry, and now again the East would yield it to 
the West to chase. 

But the daughter of Cadmus marked him, Ino, who in time 
past was a maiden of mortal speech, but now in the depths of the 
salt sea she had gotten her share of worship from the gods. She 
took pity on Ulysses in his wandering and travail, and she rose 
like a sea-gull on the wing, from the depth of the mere, and sat 
upon the well-bound raft and spake saying: 

'Hapless one, wherefore was Poseidon, shaker of the earth, so 
wondrous wroth with thee, seeing that he soweth for thee the 
The meeting seeds of many evils? Yet shall he not make a full 
wMteTadl of end of tnee - for a11 llis desire. But do even as I tell 
the sea." thee, and methinks thou art not witless. Cast off 

these garments, and leave the raft to drift before the winds, but 
do thou swim with thine hands and strive to win a footing on the 
coast of the Phaeacians, where it is decreed that thou escape. 



230 THE WORLD*S LITERATURE 

Here, take this veil immortal and wind it about thy breast; so is 
there no fear that thou suffer aught or perish. But when thou 
hast laid hold of the mainland with thy hands, loose it from off 
thee and cast it into the wine-dark deep far from the land, and 
thyself turn away.' 

With that the goddess gave the veil, and for her part dived 
back into the heaving deep, like a sea-gull; and the dark wave 
closed over her. But the steadfast goodly Ulysses pondered, 
and heavily he spake to his own brave spirit: 

'Ah, woe is me! Can it be that some one of the immortals is 
weaving a new snare for me, that she bids me quit my raft ? 
Nay, verily, I will not yet obey, for I had sight of the shore yet 
a long way off, where sTie told me that I might escape. I am re- 
solved what I will do; — and methinks on this wise it is best. So 
long as the timbers abide in the dowels, so long will I endure 
steadfast in affliction, but so soon as the wave hath shattered my 
raft asunder, I will swim, for meanwhile no better counsel may be.' 

While yet he pondered these things in his heart and soul, 
Poseidon, shaker of the earth, stirred against him a great wave, 
terrible and grievous, and vaulted from the crest, and therewith 
smote him. And as when a great -tempestuous wind tosseth a 
heap of parched husks, and scatters them this way and that, 
even so did the wave scatter the long beams of the raft. But 
Ulysses bestrode a single beam, as one rideth on a courser, and 
stript him of the garments which fair Calypso gave him. And 
presently he wound the veil beneath his breast, and fell prone 
into the sea, outstretching his hands as one eager to swim. And 
the lord, the shaker of the earth, saw him and wagged his head, 
and communed with his own soul. ' Even so, after all thy suf- 
ferings, go wandering over the deep, till thou shalt come among 
a people, the fosterlings of Zeus. Yet for all that I deem not that 
thou shalt think thyself too lightly afflicted. ' . Therewith he 
lashed his steeds of the flowing manes, and came to iEgea, where 
is his lordly home. 

But Athene, daughter of Zeus, turned to new thoughts. 
'Behold, she bound up the courses of the other winds, and 
Athene plans charged them all to cease and be still; but she 
his escape. roused the swift North and brake the waves before 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 231 

him, that so Ulysses, of the seed of Zeus, might mingle with the 
Phaeacians, lovers of the oar, avoiding death and the fates. 

So for two nights and two days he was wandering in the 
swell of the sea, and much his heart boded of death. But when 
at last the fair-tressed Dawn brought the full light of the third 
day, thereafter the breeze fell, and lo, there was a breathless 
calm, and with a quick glance ahead, (he being upborne on a 
great wave,) he saw the land very near. And even as when 
most welcome to his children is the sight of a father's life, who 
lies in sickness and strong pains long wasting away; some angry 
god assailing him; and to their delight the gods have loosed him 
from his trouble; so welcome to Ulysses showed land and wood; 
and he swam onward being eager to set foot on the strand. 
But when he was within earshot of the shore, and heard now the 
thunder of the sea against the reefs — for the great wave crashed 
against the dry land belching in terrible wise, and all was 
covered with foam of the sea, — for there were no harbours for 
ships nor shelters, but jutting headlands and reefs and cliffs; 
then at last the knees of Ulysses were loosened and his heart 
melted, and in heaviness he spake to his own brave spirit : 

1 Ah me ! now that beyond all hope Zeus hath given me 
sight of land, and withal I have cloven my way through this 
gulf of the sea, here there is no place to land on from out of the 
grey water. For without are sharp crags, and round them the 
wave roars surging, and sheer the smooth rock rises, and the sea 
is deep thereby, so that in no wise may I find firm foothold and 
escape my bane, for as I fain would go ashore, the great wave 
may haply snatch and dash me on the jagged rock — and a 
wretched endeavor that would be. But if I swim yet further 
along the coast to find, if I may, spits that take the waves aslant 
and havens of the sea, I fear lest the storm-winds catch me again 
He reaches the and bear me over the teeming deep, making heavy 

isle of Schena. moan; Qr e j ge gome g Q( j ma y eyen gen( j forth against 

me a monster from out of the shore water; and many such pas- 
tureth the renowned Amphitrite. For I know how wroth against 
me hath been the great Shaker of the Earth.' 

Whilst yet he pondered these things in his heart and mind, a 
great wave bore him to the rugged shore. There would he 



232 the world's literature 

have been stript of his skin and all his bones been broken, but 
that the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, put a thought into his 
heart. He rushed in, and with both his hands clutched the rock, 
whereto he clung till the great wave went by. So he escaped 
that peril, but again with backward wash it leapt on him and 
smote him and cast him forth into the deep. And as when the 
cuttlefish is dragged forth from his chamber, the many pebbles 
clinging to his suckers, even so was the skin stript from his 
strong hand against the rocks, and the great wave closed over 
him. There of a truth would luckless Ulysses have perished 
beyond that which was ordained, had not grey-eyed Athene 
given him sure counsel. He rose from the line of the breakers 
that belch upon the shore, and swam outside, ever looking land- 
wards, to find, if he might, spits that take the waves aslant, and 
havens of the sea. But when he came in his swimming over 
against the mouth of a fair flowing river, whereby the place 
seemed best in his eyes, smooth of rocks, and withal there was a 
covert from the wind, Ulysses felt the river running, and prayed 
to him in his heart : 

' Hear me, O king, whosoever thou art; unto thee am I come, 
as to one to whom prayer is made, while I flee the rebukes of 
Poseidon from the deep. Yea. reverend even to the deathless 
gods is that man who comes as a wanderer, even as I now have 
come to thy stream and to thy knees after much travail. Nay, 
pity me, O king; for I avow myself thy suppliant.' 

So spake he, and the god straightway stayed his stream and 
withheld his waves, and made the water smooth before him, and 
brought him safely to the mouths of the river. And his knees 
bowed and his stout hands fell, for his heart was broken by the 
brine. And his flesh was all swollen and a great stream of sea 
water gushed up through his mouth and nostrils. So he lay 
without breath or speech, swooning, such terrible weariness 
came upon him. But when now his breath returned and his spirit 
came to him again, he loosed from off him the veil of the goddess, 
and let it fall into the salt flowing river. And the great wave 
bare it back down the stream, and lightly Ino caught it in her 
hands. Then Ulysses turned from the river, and fell back in the 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 233 

reeds, and kissed earth, the grain -giver, and heavily he spake 
unto his own brave spirit : 

4 Ah, woe is me ! what is to betide me? what shall happen 
unto me at the last? If I watch in the river-bed all through the 
careful night, I fear that the bitter frost and fresh dew may 
overcome me, and I breathe forth my life for faintness, for the 
river breeze blows cold betimes in the morning, But if I climb 
the hill-side up to the shady wood, and there take rest in the 
thickets, though perchance the cold and weariness leave hold of 
me, and sweet sleep may come over me, I fear lest of wild 
beasts I become the spoil and prey.' 

So as he thought thereon this seemed to him the better way. 
He went up to the wood, and found it nigh the water in a place 
The rescue. of wide prospect. So he crept between twin bushes 
that grew from one stem, both olive trees, one of them wild 
olive. Through these, the force of the wet winds blew never, 
neither did the bright sun light on it with his rays, nor could the 
rain pierce through, so close were they twined either to other; 
and thereunder crept Ulysses, and anon he heaped together with 
his hands a broad couch; for of fallen leaves there was great 
plenty, enough to cover two or three men in winter time, how- 
ever hard the weather. And the steadfast goodly Ulysses beheld 
it and rejoiced, and he laid him in the midst thereof and flung 
over him the fallen leaves. And as when a man hath hidden 
away a brand in the black embers at an upland farm, one that 
hath no neighbors nigh, and so saveth the seed of fire, that he 
may not have to seek a light otherwhere, even so did Ulysses 
cover him with the leaves. And Athene shed sleep upon his eyes 
that so it might soon release him from his weary travail, over- 
shadowing his eyelids." 



234 the world's literature 



CHAPTER XL 

Selections. 

ULYSSES MEETS WITH NAUSICAA. — BOOK VI. 

So there he lay asleep, the steadfast goodly Ulysses, fordone 
with toil and drowsiness. Meanwhile Athene went to the land 
and the city of the Phaeacians, who of old, upon a time, dwelt 
in spacious Hypereia; near the Cyclopes they dwelt, men exceed- 
ing proud, who harried them continually, being mightier than 
they. Thence the godlike Nausithous made them depart, and 
he carried them away, and planted them in Scheria, far off from 
men that live by bread. And he drew a wall around the town, 
and builded houses and made temples for the gods and meted 
out the fields. Howbeit, ere this had he been stricken by fate, 
and had gone down to the house of Hades, and now Alcinous 
Athena sends a was reigning, with wisdom granted by the gods. 

vision to Nau- ^ f & , ,, & -. * ? 

sicaa. To his house went the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, 

devising a return for the great-hearted Ulysses. She betook her 
to the rich- wrought bower, wherein was sleeping a maiden like 
to the gods in form and comeliness, Nausicaa, the daughter of 
Alcinous, high of heart. Beside her on either hand of the pil- 
lars of the door were two handmaids, dowered with beauty from 
the Graces, and the shining doors were shut. 

But the goddess, fleet as the breath of the wind, swept 
towards the couch of the maiden, and stood above her head, and 
spake to her in the semblance of the daughter of a famous sea- 
farer, Dymas, a girl of like age with Nausicaa, who had found 
grace in her sight. In her shape the grey-eyed Athene spake to 
the princess, saying: 

' Nausicaa, how hath thy mother so heedless a maiden to her 
daughter ? Lo, thou hast shining raiment that lies by thee un- 
cared for, and thy marriage-day is near at hand, when thou thy- 
self must needs go beautifully clad, and have garments to give 
to them who shall lead thee to the house of the bridegroom! 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 235 

And, behold, these are the things whence a good report goes 
abroad among men, wherein a father and lady mother take de- 
light. But come, let us arise and go a-washing with the break- 
ing of the day. and I will follow with thee to be thy mate in the 
toil, that without delay thou mayst get thee ready, since truly 
thou art not long to be a maiden. Lo, already they are w T ooing 
thee, the noblest youths of all the Phaeacians, among that peo- 
ple whence thou thyself dost draw thy lineage. So come, be- 
seech thy noble father betimes in the morning to furnish thee 
with mules and a wain to carry the men's raiment, and the 
robes, and the shining coverlets. Yea, and for thyself it is 
seemlier far to go thus than on foot, for the places where we 
must wash are a great way off the town/ 

So spake the grey-eyed Athene, and departed to Olympus, 
where, as they say, is the seat of the gods that standeth fast for- 
ever. Not by winds is it shaken, nor ever wet with rain, nor 
doth the snow come nigh thereto, but most clear air is spread 
about it cloudless, and the white light floats over it. Therein 
the blessed gods are glad for all their days, and thither Athene 
went when she had shown forth all to the maiden. 

Anon came the throned Dawn and awakened Xausicaa of the 
fair robes, who straightway marvelled on the dream, and went 
through the halls to tell her parents, her father dear and her 
mother. And she found them within, her mother sitting by the 
hearth with the women her handmaids, spinning yarn of sea- 
purple stain, but her father she met as he was going forth to the 
renowned kings in their council, whither the noble Phaeacians 
called him. Standing close by her dear father, she spake, say- 
ing: ' Father, dear, couldst thou not lend me a high wagon with 
strong wheels, that I may take the goodly raiment to the river to 
wash, so much as I have lying soiled? Yea, and it is. seemly 
that thou thyself, when thou art with the princes in council, 
should have fresh raiment to wear. Also, there are five dear 
sons of thine in the halls, two married, but three are lusty bach- 
elors, and these are always eager for new-washen garments 
wherein to go to the dances; for all these things have I taken 
thought.' 



236 The world's literature 

This she said, because she was ashamed to speak of glad 
marriage to her father; but he saw all and answered, saying: 

' Neither the mules nor aught else do I grudge thee, my child. 
Go thy ways, and the thralls shall get thee ready a high wagon 
with good wheels, and fitted with an upper frame.' 

Therewith he called to his men, and they gave ear, and with- 
out the palace they made ready the smooth-running mule-wain, 
Nausicaa pre- ano ^ led the mules beneath the yoke, and harnessed 
a d'ay at thl nd them under the car, while the maiden brought forth 
lavers. from her bower the shining raiment. This she 

stored in the polished car, and her mother filled a basket with all 
manner of food to the heart's desire, dainties too she set therein, 
and she poured wine into a goat-skin bottle, while Nausicaa 
climbed into the wain. And her mother gave her soft olive oil 
also in a golden cruse, that she and her maidens might anoint 
themselves after the bath. Then Nausicaa took the whip and 
the shining reins, and touched the mules to start them; then 
there was a clatter of hoofs, and on they strained without flag- 
ging, with their load of the raiment and the maiden. Not alone 
d^d she go, for her attendants followed with her. 

Now when they were come to the beautiful stream of the 
river, where truly were the unfailing cisterns and bright water 
welled up free from beneath, and flowed past, enough to wash 
the foulest garments clean, there the girls unharnessed the mules 
from under the chariot, and, turning them loose, they drove 
them along the banks of the eddying river to graze on the 
honey-sweet clover. Then they took the garments from the 
The washing of wain, in their hands, and bore them to the black 
garments. wa ter, and briskly trod them down in the trenches, 

in busy rivalry. Now when they had washed and cleansed ail 
the stains, they spread all out in order along the shore of the 
deep, even where the sea, in beating on the coast, washed the 
pebbles clean. Then having bathed and anointed them well with 
olive oil, they took their mid-day meal on the river's banks, wait- 
ing till the clothes should dry in the brightness of the sun. Anon, 
The bath and when they were satisfied with food, the maidens 
game of bail. and the pr i ncesS) they f el ] to playing at ball, cast- 
ing away their veils, and among them Nausicaa of the white 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 237 

arms began the song. And even as Artemis, the archer, mo vet h 
clown the mountain, either along the ridges of lofty Taygetus or 
Erymanthus, taking her pastime in the chase of boars and swift 
deer, and with her the wild wood-nymphs disport them, the 
daughters of Zeus, lord of the aegis, and Leto is glad at heart, 
while high over all she rears her head and brows, and easily may 
she be known, — but all are fair; even so the girl unwed outshone 
her maiden company. 

But when now she was about going homewards, after yoking 
the mules and folding up the goodly raiment, then grey-eyed 
Athene turned to other thoughts, that so Ulysses might awake, 
and see the lovely maiden, who should be his guide to the city of 
the Phaeacian men. So then the princess threw the ball at one 
of her company; she missed the girl, and cast the ball into the 
deep eddying current, whereat they all raised a piercing cry. 
Then the goodly Ulysses awoke and sat up, pondering in his heart 
and spirit: 

'Woe is me! to what men's land ami come now 7 ? say, are 
the}' froward, and wild, and unjust, or are they hospitable, and of 
God-fearing mind ? How shrill a cry of maidens rings round me, 
of the nymphs that hold the steep hill-tops, and the river-springs, 
and the grassy water meadows! It must be, methinks, that I am 
near men of human speech. Go to, I myself will make trial and 
see.' 

Therewith the goodly Ulysses crept out from under the cop- 
pice, having broken with his strong hand a leafy bough from the 
thick wood, to hold athwart his body, that it might hide his 
uiysses dis- nakedness withal. And forth he sallied like a lion 

covers himself 

to the maidens, mountain-bred, trusting in his strength, who fares 
out blown and rained upon, with flaming eyes; amid the kine he 
goes or amid the sheep or in the track of the wild deer: yea. his 
belly bids him to make assay upon the flocks, even within a close- 
penned fold. Even so Ulysses w r as fain to draw nigh to the fair- 
tressed maidens, all naked as he was, such need had come upon 
him. But he was terrible in their eyes, being marred with the 
salt sea foam, and they fled cowering here and there about the 
jutting spits of shore. And the daughter of Alcinous alone stood 
firm, for Athene gave her courage of heart, and took all trem- 



238 the world's literature 

bling from her limbs. So she halted and stood over against him, 
and Ulysses considered whether he should clasp the knees of the 
loyely maiden, and so make his prayer, or should stand as he was, 
apart, and beseech her with smooth words, if haply she might 
show him the town, and give him raiment. And as he thought 
within himself, it seemed better to stand apart, and beseech her 
with smooth words, lest the maiden should be angered with him 
if he touched her knees; so straightway he spake a sweet and 
cunning word: 

' I supplicate thee, O queen, whether thou art a goddess or a 
mortal! If indeed thou art a goddess of them that keep the wide 
heaven; to Artemis, then, the daughter of great Zeus, I mainly 
liken thee, for beauty and stature and shapeliness. But if thou 
art one of the daughters of men who dwell on earth, thrice blessed 
are thy father and thy lady mother, and thrice blessed thy breth- 
ren. Surely their souls ever glow with gladness for thy sake, 
each time they see thee entering the dance, so fair a flower of 
maidens. But he is of heart the most blessed beyond all other 
who shall prevail with gifts of wooing, and lead thee to his home. 
Never have mine eyes beheld such an one among mortals, neither 
man nor woman; great awe comes upon me as I look on thee. 
Yet in Delos once Lsaw as goodly a thing: a young sapling of a 
palm tree springing by the altar of Apollo. For thither too I 
went, and much people with me, on that path where my sore 
troubles were to be. Yea, and when I looked thereupon, long 
time I marvelled in spirit, — for never grew there yet so goodly a 
shoot from ground, — even in such wise as I wonder at thee, lady, 
and am astonished and do greatly fear to touch thy knees, though 
grievous sorrow is upon me. Yesterday, on the twentieth day, I 
escaped from the wine-dark deep, but all that time continually 
the wave bare me, and the vehement winds drave, from the isle 
Ogygia. And now some god has cast me on this shore, that here 
too, methinks, some evil may betide me; for I trow not that 
trouble will cease; the gods ere that time will yet bring many a 
thing to pass. But, queen, have pity on me, for after many trials 
and sore to thee first of all am I come, and of the other folk, 
who hold this city and land, I know no man. Nay show me the 
town, give me an old garment to cast about me, if thou hadst, 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 239 

when thou earnest here, any old wrap, poor and coarse. And 
may the gods grant thee all thy heart's desire; a husband and a 
home, and a mind at one with his may they give — a good gift, for 
there is nothing mightier and nobler than when man^and wife are 
of one heart and mind in a house, a grief to their foes, and to 
their friends great joy, but their own hearts know it best.' 

Then Nausicaa of the white arms answered him, and said: 
4 Stranger, forasmuch as thou seemest no evil man nor foolish — 
and it is Olympian Zeus himself that giveth weal to men, to the 
good and to the evil, to each one as he will, and this thy lot 
doubtless is of him, and so thou must endure it: — and now, since 
thou hast come to our city and our land, thou shalt not lack 
raiment, nor aught else that is the due of a hapless suppliant, 
when he has met them who can befriend him. And I will show 
thee the town, and name the name of the people. The Phaea- 
cians hold this city and land, and I am the daughter of Alcinous, 
great of heart, on whom all the might and force of the Phaeacians 
depend.' 

Thus she spake, and called to her maidens of the fair tresses: 
'Halt, my maidens, whither flee ye at the sight of a man? Ye 
Nausicaa, a surely do not take him for an enemy? That mortal 
foftitii y d P e e a°nd breathes not, and never will be born, who shall 
modesty. come with war to the land of the Phaeacians, for 

they are very dear to the gods. Far apart we live in the wash of 
the waves, the outermost of men, and no other mortals are con- 
versant with us. Nay, but this man is some helpless one come 
hither in his wanderings, whom now we must kindly entreat, for 
all strangers and beggars are" -from Zeus, and a little gift is dear. 
So, my maidens, give the stranger meat and drink, and bathe 
him in the river, where withal is a shelter from the winds.' 

So she spake, but they had halted and called each to the other, 
and they brought Ulysses to the sheltered place, and made him 
sit down, as Nausicaa bade them, the daughter of Alcinous, high 
of^heart. Beside him they laid a mantle, and a doublet for 
raiment, and gave him soft olive oil in the golden cruse, and bade 
him wash in the streams of the river. Then goodly Ulysses spake 
among the maidens, saying, ' I pray you stand thus apart, while 
I myself wash the brine from my shoulders, and anoint me with 



240 the world's literature 

olive oil, for truly oil is long a stranger to my skin. But in your 
sight I will not bathe, for I am ashamed to stand unclothed be- 
fore a company of fair-tressed maidens.' 

Then they went apart and told all to their lady. But with 
the river water the goodty Ulysses washed from his skin the salt 
scurf that covered his back and broad shoulders, and from his 
uiysses clothed h ea d ne wiped the crusted brine of the barren sea. 
and cared for. But w ] ien j ie h ac ] was hed his whole body, and 

anointed him with olive oil, and had clad himself in the raiment 
that the unwedded maiden gave him, then Athene, the daughter 
of Zeus, made him greater and more mighty to behold, and from 
his head caused deep curling locks to flow, like the hyacinth 
flower. And as when some skilful man overlays gold upon silver 
— one that Hephaestus and Pallas Athene have taught all man- 
ner of craft, and full of grace is his handiwork — even so did 
Athene shed grace about his head and shoulders. 

Then to the shore of the sea went Ulysses apart, and sat down, 
glowing in beauty and grace, and the princess marvelled at him, 
and spake among her fair-tressed maidens, saying: 

'Listen, my white armed maidens, and I will say somewhat. 
Not without the will of all the gods who hold Olympus hath this 
man come among the godlike Phaeacians. Erewhile he seemed 
to me uncomely, but now he is like the gods that keep the wide 
heaven. Would that such an one might be called my husband, 
dwelling here, and that it might please him here to abide! But 
come, my maidens, give the stranger meat and drink. ' 

Thus she spake, and they gave ready ear and hearkened, and 
set beside Ulysses meat and drink, and the steadfast goodly 
Ulysses did eat and drink eagerly, for it was long since he had 
tasted food. 

Now Nausicaa of the white arms had another thought. She 
folded the raiment and stored it in the goodly wain, and yoked 
Nausicaa's cau- the mules strong of hoof, and herself climbed into 
the car. Then she called on Ulysses, and spake 
and hailed him: ' Up now, stranger, and rouse thee to go to the 
city, that I may convey thee to the house of my wise father, 
where, I promise thee, thou shalt get knowledge of all the noblest 
of the Phaeacians. But do thou even as I tell thee, and thou 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 241 

seemest a discreet man enough. So long as we are passing along 
the fields and farms of men, do thou fare quickly with the maid- 
ens behind the mules and the chariot, and I will lead the way. 
But when we set foot within the city, — whereby goes a high wall 
with towers, and there is a fair haven on either side of the town, 
and narrow is the entrance, and curved ships are drawn up on 
either hand of the mole, for all the folk have stations for their 
vessels, each man one for himself. And there is the place of 
assembly about the goodly temple of Poseidon, furnished with 
heavy stones, deep bedded in the earth. There men look to the 
gear of the black ships, hawsers and sails, and there they fine 
down the oars. For the Phaeacians care not for bow nor quiver, 
but for masts, and oars of ships, and gallant barques, wherein 
rejoicing they cross the grey sea. Their ungracious speech it is 
that I would avoid, lest some man afterward rebuke me, and 
there are but too many insolent folk among the people. And 
some one of the baser sort might meet me and say: " Who is this 
that goes with Nausicaa, this tall and goodly stranger? Where 
found she him? Her husband he will be, her very own. Either 
she has taken in some ship- wrecked wanderer of strange men,— 
for no men dwell near us; or some god has come in answer to her 
instant prayer; from heaven has he descended, and will have her 
to wife forevermore. Better so, if herself she has ranged abroad 
and found a lord from a strange land, for verily she holds in no 
regard the Phaeacians here in this country, the many men and 
noble who are her wooers." So will they speak, and this would 
turn to my reproach. Yea, and I myself would think it blame 
of another maiden who did such things in despite of her friends, 
her father and mother being still alive, and was conversant with 
men before the day of open wedlock. But, stranger, heed well 
what I say, that as soon as may be thou mayest gain at my 
father's hands an escort and a safe return. Thou shalt find a 
fair grove of Athene, a poplar grove near the road, and a spring 
wells forth therein, and a meadow lies all around. There is my 
father's demesne, and his fruitful close, within the sound of a 
man's shout from the city. Sit thee down there and wait until 
such time as we may have come into the cit} T , and reached the 
house of my father. But when thou deemest that we are got to 



242 the world's literature 

the palace, then go up to the city of the Phaeacians, and ask for 
the house of my father Alcinous, high of heart. It is easily 
known, and a young child could be thy guide, for nowise like it 
are builded the houses of the Phaeacians, so goodly is the palace 
of the hero Alcinous. But when thou art within the shadow of 
the halls and the court, pass quickly through the great chamber 
till thou comest to my mother, who sits at the hearth in the light 
of the fire, weaving yarn of sea-purple stain, a wonder to behold. 
Her chair is leaned against a pillar, and her maidens sit behind 
her. And there my father's throne leans close to hers, wherein 
he sits and drinks his wine, like an immortal. Pass thou by 
him, and cast thy hands about my mother's knees, that thou 
mayest see quickly and with joy the day of thy returning, even 
if thou art from a very far country. If but her heart be kindly 
disposed toward thee, then is there hope that thou shalt see thy 
friends, and come to thy well-builded house, and to thine own 
country. ' 

She spake, and smote the mules with the shining whip, and 
quickly they left behind them the streams of the river. And 
well they trotted and well they paced, and she took 
heed to drive in such wise that the maidens and 
Ulysses might follow on foot, and cunningly she plied the lash. 
Then the sun set, and they came to the famous grove, the sacred 
place of Athene; so there the goodly Ulysses sat him down.- 
Then straightway he prayed to the daughter of mighty Zeus: 
'Listen to me, child of Zeus, lord of the aegis, unwearied maiden; 
hear me even now, since before thou heardest not when I was 
smitten on the sea, when the renowned Earth-shaker smote me. 
Grant me to come to the Phaeacians as one dear, and worthy of 
pity.' 

So he spake in prayer, and Pallas Athene heard him; but she 
did not yet appear to him face to face, for she had regard unto 
her father's brother, who furiously raged against the godlike 
Ulysses, till he should come to his own country," 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 243 



CHAPTER XII. 

Selections from the Odyssey, Book vii. 

"So he prayed there, the steadfast goodly Ulysses, while the 
Nausicaare- two strong mules bare the princess to the town, 
turns home. ^ uc | w k en she had now come to the famous palace of 
her father, she halted at the gateway, and round her gathered 
her brothers, men like to the immortals, and they loosed the 
mules from under the car, and carried the raiment within. But 
the maiden betook her to her chamber, and an aged dame kindled 
the fire for her, Eurymedusa, the handmaid of the chamber, 
whom the curved ships upon a time had brought from Aperaea; 
and men chose her as a prize for Alcinous, seeing that he bare 
rule over all the Phaeacians, and the people hearkened to him as 
to a god. She waited on the white-armed Xausicaa in the palace 
halls; she was wont to kindle the fire and prepare the supper in 
the inner chamber. 

At that same hour Ulysses roused him to go to the city, and 
Athene shed a deep mist about Ulysses for the favor that she bare 
him, lest any of the Phaeacians, high of heart, should meet him 
and mock him in sharp speech, and ask him who he was. But 
Athene appears when he was now about to enter the pleasant city, 

to Llvsses as a *- 

young maiden, then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, met him, in the 
fashion of a young maiden carrying a pitcher, and she. stood over 
against him, and goodly Ulysses inquired of her: 

' My child, couldst thou not lead me to the palace of the lord 
Alcinous, who bears sway among this people ? Lo, I am come 
here a stranger, travel- worn, from afar, from a distant land; 
wherefore of the folk who possess this city and country I know 
not any man.' 

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, answered him, saying: 
1 Yea now, father and stranger, I will show thee the house that 
thou bidst me declare, for it lies near the palace of my noble 
father; behold, be silent as thou goest, and I will lead the way. 



244 the world's literature 

And look on no man, nor question any. For these men do not 
gladly suffer strangers, nor lovingly entreat whoso cometh from 
a strange land. They trust to the speed of their swift ships. 
wherewith they cross the great gulf, for the Earth-shaker hath 
vouchsafed them this power. Their ships are swift as the Might 
of a bird, or as a thought/ 

Therewith Pallas Athene led the way swiftly, and he followed 
hard in the footsteps of the goddess. And it came to pass that 
the Phaeacians, mariners renowned, marked him not as he went 
down the city through their midst, for the fair-tressed Athene 
suffered it not, that awful goddess, who shed a wondrous mist 
about him, for the favor that she bare him in her heart. And 
Ulysses marvelled at the havens and the gallant ships, yea and 
the places of assembly of the heroes, and the long high walls 
crowned with palisades, a marvel to behold. But when they 
had now T come to the famous palace of the king, the goddess, 
grey-eyed Athene, spake first and said: 

1 Lo, here, father and stranger, is the house that thou wouldst 
have me show thee; and thou shalt find kings at the feast, the 
fosterlings of Zeus; enter then, and fear not in thine heart, for 
the dauntless man is the best in every adventure, even though he 
come from a strange land. Thou shalt find the queen first in the. 
halls. Arete is the name whereby men call her, and she came 
even of those that begat the king Alcinous. 

Xausithous begat Rhexenor and Alcinous. While Rhexenor 
had as yet no son, Apollo of the silver bow smote him, a groom new 
wed, leaving in his halls one only child Arete; and 
Alcinous took her to wife, and honored her as no 
other woman in the world is honored, of all that now-a-days 
keep house under the hand of their lords. Thus she hath, and 
hath ever had, all worship heartily from her dear children and 
from her lord Alcinous and from all the folk, who look on her as 
on a goddess, and greet her with reverend speech, when she goes 
about the town. Yea, for she, too, hath no lack of understand- 
ing. To whomso she shows favor, even if they be men, she ends 
their feuds. If but her heart be kindly disposed to thee, then is 
there good hope that thou mayest see thy friends and come to thy 
high-roofed home and thine own country.' 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 245 

Therewith grey-eyed Athene departed over the unharvested 
seas, and left pleasant Scheria, and came to Marathon and wide- 
waved Athens, and entered the good house of Erechtheus. 
Meanwhile Ulysses went to the famous palace of Alcinous. and 
his heart was full of many thoughts as he stood there or ever he 
had reached the threshold of bronze. For there was a gleam, as 
it were, of sun or moon through the high -roofed hall of great- 
hearted Alcinous. Brazen were the walls which ran this way 
and that from the threshold to the inmost chamber, and round 
them was a frieze of blue, and golden were the doors that closed 
in the good house. Silver were the door-posts that were set on 
the brazen threshold, and silver the lintel thereupon, and the 
hook of the door was of gold. And on either side 
stood golden hounds and silver, which Hephaestus 
wrought by his cunning, to guard the palace of great-hearted 
Alcinous, being free from death and age all their days. And 
within were seats arrayed against the wall this way and that. 
from the threshold even to the inmost chamber, and thereon 
were spread light coverings, finely woven, the handiwork of 
women. There the Phaeacian chieftains were wont to sit eating 
and drinking, for they had continual store. Yea. and there 
were youths fashioned in gold, standing on firm-set bases, with 
flaming torches in their hands, giving light through the night to 
the feasters in the palace. And he had fifty handmaids in the 
house, and some grind the yellow grain on the millstone, and 
others weave webs and turn the yarn as they sit. restless as the 
leaves of the tall poplar tree: and the soft olive oil drops off that 
linen, so closely is it woven. For as the Phaeacian men are 
skilled beyond ail others in driving a swift ship upon the deep. 
even so are the women the most cunning at the loom, for Athene 
hath given them notable wisdom in all fair handiwork and cun- 
ning wit. And without the courtyard hard by the door is a 
great garden, of four ploughgates. and a hedge runs round on 
either side. And there grow tall trees, blossoming, pear-trees 
and pomegranates, and apple-trees with bright fruit, and sweet 
figs, and olives in their bloom. The fruit of these trees never 
perisheth neither f aileth. winter or summer, enduring through all 
the vear. Evermore the West Wind blowing brings some fruits 



246 the world's literature 

to birth and ripens others. Pear upon pear waxes old, and apple 
on apple, yea and cluster ripens upon cluster of the grape, and 
fig upon fig. There too hath he a fruitful vineyard planted, 
whereof the one part is being dried by the heat, a sunny plot on 
level ground, while other grapes men are gathering, and yet 
others they are treading in the winepress. In the foremost row 
are unripe grapes that cast the blossom, and others there be that 
are growing black to vintaging. There, too, skirting the furthest 
line, are all manner of garden beds, planted trimly, that are per- 
petually fresh, and therein are two fountains of water, whereof 
one scatters his streams all about the garden, and the other runs 
over against it beneath the threshold of the courtyard, and issues 
by the lofty house, and thence did the townsfolk draw water. 
These were the splendid gifts of the gods in the palace of Al- 
cinous. 

There the steadfast goodly Ulysses stood and gazed. But when 
he had gazed at all and wondered, he passed quickly over the thres- 
hold within the house. And he found the captains and the counsel- 
lors of the Phaeacians pouring forth wine to the keen-sighted god, 
the slayer of Argos; for to him they poured the last cup when 
they were minded to take rest. Now the steadfast goodly Ulysses 
went through the house, clad in a thick mist, which Athene shed 
around him, till he came to Arete and the king Alcinous. And 
Ulysses cast his hands about the knees of Arete, and then it was 
uiysses a sup- that the wondrous mist melted from off him, and a 
pliant to Arete. s ii ence £ e |j on t i iem that were within the house at 
the sight of him, and they marvelled as they beheld him. Then 
Ulysses began his prayer: 

* Arete, daughter of godlike Rhexenor, after many toils am I 
come to thy husband and to thy knees and to these guests, and 
may the gods vouchsafe them a happy life, and may each one 
leave to his children after him his substance in his halls and 
whatever dues of honor the people have rendered unto him. But 
speed, I pray you, my parting right quickly, that I may come to 
mine own country, for already too long do I suffer affliction- far 
from my friends. ' 

Therewith he sat him down by the hearth in the ashes at the fire, 
and behold, a dead silence fell on all. And at the last the ancient 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 24? 

lord Echeneus spake among them, an elder of the Phaeacians, 
excellent in speech and skilled in much wisdom of old time. 
With good will he made harangue and spake among them: 

' Alcinous, this is not the more seemly way, nor is it fitting 
that the stranger should sit upon the ground in the ashes by the 
hearth, while these men refrain them, waiting thy word. Nay 
come, bid the stranger arise, and set him on a chair inlaid with 
silver, and command the henchmen to mix the wine, that we may 
pour forth likewise before Zeus, whose joy is in the thunder, who 
attendeth upon reverend suppliants. And let the housewife give 
supper to the stranger out of such stores as be within. ' 

Now when the mighty king Alcinous heard this saying, he 
took Ulysses, the wise and crafty, by the hand, and raised him 
from the hearth, and set him on a shining chair, whence he bade 
his son give place, valiant Laodamas, who sat next him and was 
his dearest. And a handmaid bare water for the hands in a 
goodly golden ewer, and poured it forth over a silver basin to 
wash withal, and drew to his side a polished table. And a grave 
dame bare wheaten bread and set it by him and laid upon the 
board many dainties, giving freely of such things as she had by 
her. So the steadfast goodly Ulysses did eat and drink; and then 
the mighty king Alcinous spake unto the henchman: 

' Pontonous, mix the bowl and serve out the wine to all in the 
hall, that we may pour forth likewise before Zeus, whose joy is 
in the thunder, who attendeth upon reverend suppliants.' 

So spake he, and Pontonous mixed the honey-hearted wine, 
and served it out to all, when he had poured forth libation into 
each cup in turn. But when they had poured forth a part to 
Jove, and all had drunk their fill, Alcinous spake among them: 

' Hear me, ye captains and counsellors of the Phaeacians, that 
I may speak as my spirit bids me. Now that the feast is over, 
go ye home and lie down to rest; and in the morning we will call 
yet more elders together, and entertain the stranger in the halls 
and do fair sacrifice to the gods, and thereafter we will likewise 
bethink us of the convoy, that so without pain or grief yonder 
stranger may by our convoy reach his own country speedily and 
with joy, even though he be from very far. away. So shall he 
suffer no hurt or harm in mid passage, ere he set foot on his own 



248 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

land; but thereafter he shall endure such things as Fate and the 
stern spinning women drew off the spindles for him at his birth 
when his mother bare him. But if he is some deathless god come 
down from heaven, then is this some new device wherewith the 
gods encompass us. For always heretofore the gods appear mani- 
fest amongst us, whensoever we offer glorious hecatombs, and 
uiysses is wei- they feast by our side, sitting at the same board; 

corned to the J J ° 

palace. yea, and even if a wayfarer going all alone has met 

with them, they use no disguise, since we are near of kin to them, 
even as are the Cyclopes and the wild tribe of the Giants. ' 

And Ulysses of many counsels answered him, saying: 'Alcinous, 
that thought be far from thee! for I bear no likeness either in 
form or fashion to the deathless gods, who keep wide heaven, but 
to men that die. Whomsoever ye know of human kind the 
heaviest laden with sorrow, to them might I liken myself in my 
griefs. Yea, and I might tell of yet other woes, even the long- 
tale of toil that by the gods' will I endured. But as for me, suf- 
fer me to. sup, afflicted as I am; for nought is there more shame- 
less than a ravening belly, which biddeth a man perforce be 
mindful of him, though one be worn and sorrowful in spirit, 
even as I have sorrow of heart; yet evermore he biddeth me eat 
and drink and maketh me utterly to forget all my sufferings, and 
commandeth me to take my fill. But do ye bestir you at the 
breaking of the day, that so ye may set me, hapless as I am, upon 
my country's soil, albeit after much suffering. Ah, and may life 
leave me when I have had sight of mine own possessions, my 
thralls, and my dwelling that is great and high! ' 

So spake he, and they all assented thereto, and bade send the 
stranger on his way, for that he had spoken aright. Now, when 
they had poured forth and had drunken to their hearts' content, 
they went each one to his house to lay them to rest. But goodly 
Ulysses was left behind in the hall, and by him sat Arete and 
godlike Alcinous; and the maids cleared away the furniture of 
the feast; and white-armed Arete first spake among them. For 
she knew the mantle and the doublet, when she saw the goodly 
raiment that she herself had wrought with the women her hand- 
maids. So she uttered her voice and spake to him winged words: 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 249 

i Sir, I am bold to ask thee first of this. Who art thou of the 
sons of men, and whence ? Who gave thee this raiment ? Didst 
thou not say indeed that thou earnest hither wandering over the 
deep ? ' 

Then Ulysses of many counsels answered her, and said: ' 'Tis 
hard, O queen, to tell my griefs from end to end, for that the gods 
uiysses relates °f heaven have given me griefs in plenty. But this 
his story. w ^j j declare to thee, whereof thou dost question and 

inquire. There is an isle, Ogygia, that lies far off in the sea; 
there dwells the daughter of Atlas, crafty Calypso, of the braided 
tresses, an awful goddess; nor is any either of gods or mortals 
conversant with her. Howbeit, some god brought me to her 
hearth, wretched man that I am, all alone, for that Zeus with 
white bolt crushed my swift ship and cleft it in the midst of 
the wine-dark deep. There all the rest of my good company was 
lost, but I clung with fast embrace about the keel of the curved 
ship, and so was I borne for nine whole days. And on the tenth 
dark night the gods brought me nigh the isle Ogygia, where 
Calypso of the braided tresses dwells, an awful goddess. She 
took me in, and with all care she cherished me and gave me sus- 
tenance, and said that she would make me to know not death 
nor age for all my days; but never did she win my heart within 
me. There I abode for seven years continually, and watered 
with my tears the imperishable raiment that Calypso gave me. 
But when the eighth year came round in his course, then at last 
she urged and bade me to be gone, by reason of a message from 
Zeus, or it may be that her own mind was turned. So she sent 
me forth on a well-bound raft, and gave me plenteous store, bread 
and sweet wine, and she clad me in imperishable raiment, and sent 
forth a warm and gentle wind to blow. For ten days and seven I 
sailed; traversing the deep, and on the eighteenth day the shad- 
owy hills of your land showed in sight, and my heart was glad,— 
wretched that I was — for surely I was still to be the mate of much 
sorrow. For Poseidon, shaker of the earth, stirred up the same, 
who roused against me the winds and stopped my way, and made 
a wondrous sea to swell, nor did the wave suffer me to be borne 
upon my raft, as I made ceaseless moan. Thus the storm winds 
shattered the raft, but as for me I cleft my way through the gulf 



250 THE WORLD^S LITERATURE 

yonder, till the wind bare and the water brought me nigh your 
coast. Then as I strove to land upon the shore, the wave had 
overwhelmed me, dashing me against the great rocks and a 
desolate place, but at length I gave way and swam back, till I 
came to the river, where the place seemed best in mine eyes, 
smooth of rocks, and withal there was a shelter from the wind. 
And as I came out I sank down, gathering to me my spirit, and im- 
mortal night came on. Then I gat me forth and away from the 
heaven-fed river, and laid me to sleep in the bushes and strewed 
leaves about me, and the god shed over me infinite sleep. There 
among the leaves I slept, stricken at heart, all the night long, even, 
till the morning and mid-day. And the sun sank when sweet 
sleep let me free. And I was aware of the company of thy 
daughter, disporting them upon the sand, and there was she in 
the midst of them like unto the goddesses. To her I made my 
supplication, and she showed no lack of a good understanding, 
behaving so as thou couidst not hope for in chancing upon one 
He accounts s0 young: for the younger folk lack wisdom always. 
g < ivin s by aiment She gave me bread enough and red wine, and let me 
wash me in the river and bestowed on me these 
garments. Herein, albeit in sore distress, have I told thee all the 
truth. ' 

And Alcinous answered again, and spake saying: 'Sir, surely 
this was no right thought of my daughter, in that she brought 
thee not to our house with the women her handmaids, though 
thou didst first entreat her grace.' 

And Ulysses of many counsels answered, and said unto him: 
' My lord, chide not, I pray thee, for this the blameless maiden. 
For indeed she bade me follow with her company, but I would 
not for fear and very shame, lest perchance thine heart might be 
clouded at the sight; for a jealous race upon the earth are we, 
the tribes of men.' 

And Alcinous answered yet again, and spake saying : ' Sir, 
my heart within me is not of such temper as to have been wroth 
without a cause: due measure in all things is best. Would to 
father Zeus, and Athene, and Apollo, would that so goodly a man 
as thou art, and like-minded with me, thou wouldst wed my 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 25l 

daughter, and be called my son, here abiding; so would I give 
thee house and wealth, if thou wouldst stay of thine own will : 
but against thy will shall none of the Phaeacians keep thee : 
never be this well-pleasing in the eyes of father Zeus ! And now 
is promised I ordain an escort for thee on a certain day, that thou 
iiome. may st surely know, and that day the morrow. 

Then shalt thou lay thee down overcome by sleep, and they the 
while shall smite the calm waters, till thou come to thy country 
and thy house, and whatsoever place is dear to thee, even though 
it be much further than Euboea, which certain of our man s&y 
is the farthest of lands, they who saw it, when they carried Rhad- 
amanthus, of the fair hair, to visit Tityos, son of Gala. Even 
thither they went, and accomplished the journey on the self -same 
day and won home again, and were not weary. And now shalt 
thou know for thyself how far my ships are the best, and how 
my young men excel at tossing the salt water with the oar- 
blade. 

So spake he, and the steadfast goodly Ulysses rejoiced; and 
then he uttered a word in prayer, and called aloud to Zeus : 
' Father Zeus, oh that Alcinous may fulfil all that he hath said, 
so may his fame never be quenched upon the earth, the grain- 
giver, and I should come to mine own land !' 

Thus they spake one to the other. And white-armed Arete 
bade her handmaids set out bedsteads beneath the corridor, and 
cast fair, purple blankets over them, and spread coverlets above, 
and thereon lay thick mantles to be, a clothing over all. So they 
went from the hall with torch in hand. But when they had 
busied them and spread the good bedstead, they stood by Ulysses 
and called unto him, saying: 

■ Up now, stranger, and get thee to sleep, thy bed is made.' 

So spake they, and it seemed to him that rest was wondrous 
good." 

Ulysses remained a brief time at the palace of king 
Alcinous. Festivals were held in his honor, and he dis- 
tinguished himself in the games. He then related his 
adventures. 



25 2 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 



ULYSSES' ADVENTURE WITH THE CYCLOPS, AS FOUND IN 
BOOK IX. 

" For nine whole days was I borne by ruinous winds over the 
teeming deep; but on the tenth day we set foot on the land of 
The Tisit to the the lotus-eaters, who eat a flowery food. So we 

"Lotus eaters." 

The basis of stepped ashore and drew water, and straightway my 

Tennyson's Jrx Q J J 

Lotus-eaters, company took their midday meal by the swift ships. 
Now when we had tasted meat and drink I sent forth certain of 
my company to go and make search what manner of men they 
were who here live upon the earth by bread, and I chose out 
two of my fellows, and sent a third with them as herald. Then 
straightway they went and mixed with the men of the lotus- 
eaters, and so it was that the lotus-eaters devised not death for our 
fellows, but gave them of the lotus to taste. Now whosoever of 
them did eat the honey-sweet fruit of the lotus, had no more 
wish to bring tidings nor to come back, but there he chose to 
abide with the lotus-eating men, ever feeding on the lotus, and 
forgetful of his homeward way. Therefore I led them back to 
the ships weeping, and sore against their will, and dragged them 
beneath the benches, and bound them in the hollow barques. 
But I commanded the rest of my well-loved company to make 
speed and go on board the swift ships, lest haply any should 
eat of the lotus and be forgetful of returning. Right soon the} 7 
embarked and sat upon the benches, and sitting orderly they 
smote the grey sea water with their oars. 

1 Thence we sailed onward stricken at heart. And we came to 
uiysses comes the land of the Cyclopes, a froward and a lawless 

to the land of „ „ , . , , , , -, 

the Cyclopes, folk, who trusting to the deathless gods plant not 
aught with their hands, neither plough; but, behold, all these 
things spring for them in plenty, unsown and untilled, wheat, 
and barley, and vines, which bear great clusters of the juice of 
the grape, and the rain of Zeus gives them increase. These have 
neither gatherings for council nor oracles of law, but they dwell 
in hollow caves on the crests of the high hills, and each one 
utters the law to his children and his wives, and they reck not 
one of another. 

; Now there is a waste isle stretching without the harbor 
/of the land of the Cyclopes, neither nigh at hand nor yet 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 253 

afar off, a woodland isle, wherein are wild goats unnum- 
bered, for no path of men scares them, nor do hunters resort 
thither who suffer hardships in the wood, as they range the 
mountain crests. Moreover, it is possessed neither by flocks nor 
by ploughed lands, but the soil lies unsown evermore and un- 
tilled, desolate of men, and feeds the bleating goats. . For the 
C}'clopes have by them no ships with vermilion cheek, not- yet 
are there shipwrights in the island, who might fashion decked 
barques, which should accomplish all their desire, voyaging to 
the towns of men (as ofttimes men cross the sea to one another 
in ships), who might likewise have made of their isle a goodly 
settlement. Yea, it is in no wise a sorry land, but would 
bear all things in their season; for therein are soft water-mead- 
ows by the shores of the grey salt sea, and there the vines know 
no decay, and the land is level to plough; thence might they 
reap a crop exceeding deep in due season, for verily there is fat- 
ness beneath the soil. Also there is a fair haven, where is no 
need of moorings, either to cast anchor or to fasten hawsers, but 
men may run the ship on the -beach and tarry until such time as 
the sailors are minded to be gone and favorable breezes blow. 
Now at the head of the harbor is a well of bright water, issuing 
Theapproach from a cave, and round it are poplars growing. 
Land.* Thither we sailed, and some god guided us through 

the night, for it was dark and there was no light to see, a mist 
lying deep about the ships, nor did the moon show her light from 
heaven, but was shut in with clouds. No man then beheld that 
island, neither saw we the long waves rolling to the beach, till 
we had run our decked ships ashore. And when our ships were 
beached, we took down all their sails, and ourselves, too, stepped 
forth upon the strand of the sea, and there we fell into sound 
sleep and waited for the bright Dawn. 

' So soon as earl} T Dawn shone forth, the rosy -fingered, in 
wonder at the island we roamed over the length thereof; and the 
Nymphs, the daughters of Zeus, lord of the aegis, started the 
wild goats of the hills, that my company might have wherewith 
to sup. Anon we took to us our curved bows from out the ships 
and long spears, and arrayed in three bands, we began shooting 
at the goats; and the god soon gave us game in plenty. Now 



254 THE WORLDS LITERATURE 

twelve ships bare me company, and to each ship fell nine goats 
for a portion, but for me alone they set ten apart. 

1 Thus we sat there the livelong day until the going down of 
the sun, feasting on abundant flesh and on sweet wine. For the 
red wine was not yet spent from out the ships, but somewhat 
was yet therein, for we had each one drawn off large store 
thereof in jars, when we took the sacred citadel of the Cicones. 
And we looked across to the land of the Cyclopes who dwell nigh, 
and to the smoke, and to the voice of the men, and of the sheejj 
and of the goats. And when the sun had sunk and darkness 
had come on, then we laid us to rest upon the sea-beach. So 
soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, then I called 
a gathering of my men, and spake among them all: 

* "Abide here, all the rest of you, my dear companions; but I 
will go with mine own ship and my ship's company, and make 
proof of these men, w r hat manner of folk they are, whether fro- 
ward, and wild, and unjust, or hospitable and of god-fearing 
mind." 

'So I spake, and I climbed the ship's side and bade my 
company themselves to mount, and to loose the hawsers. So 
they soon embarked and sat upon the benches, and sitting orderly 
smote the grey sea water with their oars. Now when we had 
come to the land that lies hard by, we saw a cave on the border 
near to the sea, lofty and roofed over with laurels, and there 
many flocks of sheep and goats were used to rest. And about it 
a high outer court was built with stones, deep bedded, and with 
The Cyclopes ta ^ P mes an d oaks with their high crown of leaves. 
based rt accord h ' ^nd a man was wont to sleep therein, of monstrous 
thorities!on*he s ^ ze ' wno shepherded his flocks alone and afar, and 
ing C ^ n o^rs? rd " was no ^ conversant with others, but dwelt apart in 
a soiar myth, lawlessness of mind. Yea, for he was a monstrous 
thing and fashioned marvellously, nor was he like to any man 
that lives by bread, but like a wooded peak of the towering hills, 
which stands out apart and alone from others. 

■ Then I commanded the rest of my well-loved company to 
tarry there by the ship and to guard the ship, but I chose out 
twelve men, the best of m}- company, and sallied forth. Now I 
had with me a goat-skin of the dark wine and sweet, which 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 255 

Maron, son of Euanthes, had given me, the priest of Apollo, the 
god that watched over Ismarus. And he gave it, for that we had 
protected him with his wife and child reverently; for he dwelt in 
a thick grove of Phoebus Apollo. And he made me splendid 
gifts; he gave me seven talents of gold well wrought, and he 
gave me a mixing bowl of pure silver, and, furthermore, wine 
which he drew off in twelve jars in all, sweet wine unmingled, a 
draught divine; nor did any of his servants or of his handmaids 
in the house know thereof, but himself and his dear wife and one 
housedame only. And as often as they drank that red wine, 
honey sweet, he would fill one cup and pour it into twenty meas- 
ures of water, and- a marvellous sweet smell went up from the 
mixing bowl; then truly it was no pleasure to refrain. 

1 With this wine I filled a great skin, and bare it with me, 
and corn, too, I put in a wallet, for my lordly spirit straightway 
had a boding that a man would come to me, a strange man, 
clothed in mighty strength, one that knew not judgment and 
justice. 

* Soon we came to the cave, but we found himjiot within; he 
The cave of was shepherding his fat flocks in the pastures. So 
Polyphemus. we wen ^ ^ n ^ ^ e cavej an( } gazed on all that was 

therein. The baskets were well laden with cheeses, and the folds 
were thronged with lambs and kids; each kind was penned by 
itself, the firstlings apart, and the summer lambs apart, apart 
too the younglings of the flock. Now all the vessels swam with 
whey, the milk-pails and the bowls, the well-wrought vessels 
whereinto he milked. My company then spake and besought 
me first of all to take of the cheeses and to return, and after- 
wards to make haste and drive off the kids and lambs to the 
swift ships* from out the pens, and to sail over the salt sea water. 
Howbeit I hearkened not (and far better would it have been), but 
waited to see the giant himself, and whether he would give me 
gifts as a stranger's due. Yet was not his coming to be with joy 
to my company. 

' Then we kindled a fire and made burnt-offering, and our- 
selves likewise took of the cheeses, and did eat, and sat waiting 
for him within till he came back, shepherding his flocks. And 
he bore a grievous weight of -dry wood, against supper time. 



256 THE WORLD S LITERATURE 

This log he cast down with a din inside the cave, and in fear we 
fled to the secret place of the rock. As for him, he drave his fat 
flocks into the wide cavern, even all that he was wont to milk; 
but the males both of the sheep and of the goats he left without 
in the deep yard. Thereafter he lifted a huge doorstone and 
weighty, and set it in the mouth of the cave, such an one as two 
and twenty good four-wheeled wains could not raise from the 
ground, so mighty a sheer rock did he set against the doorway. 
Then he sat down and milked the ewes and bleating goats all 
orderly, and beneath each ewe he placed her young. And anon 
he curdled one-half of the white milk, and massed it together, 
and stored it in wicker-baskets, and the other half he let stand 
in pails, that he might have it to take and drink against supper 
time. Now when he had done all his work busily, then he kindled 
the fire anew, and espied us, and made question: 

" Strangers, who are ye? Whence sail ye over the wet ways? 
On some trading enterprise or at adventure do ye rove, even as 
sea-robbers over the brine, for at hazard of their own lives they 
wander, bringing bale to alien men." 

'So spake he, but as for us our heart within us was broken 
for terror of the deep voice and his own monstrous shape; yet 
despite all I answered and spake unto him saying: 

' ' Lo, we are Achaeans, driven wandering from Troy, by all 
uiysses intro- manner of winds over the great gulf of the sea; seek- 
to the Cyclops, ing our homes we fare, but another path have we 
come, by other ways: even such, methinks, was the will and the 
counsel of Zeus. And we avow us to be the men of Agamemnon, 
son of Atreus, whose fame is even now the mightiest under 
heaven, so great a city did he sack, and destroyed many people; 
but as for us we have lighted here, and come to these thy knees, if 
perchance thou wilt give us a stranger's gift, or make any present, 
as is the due of strangers. Nay, lord, have regard to the gods, 
for we are thy suppliants; and Zeus is the avenger of suppliants 
and sojourners, Zeus, the god of the stranger, who fareth in the 
comj)any of reverend strangers." 

' So I spake, and anon he answered out of his pitiless heart: 
; ' Thou art witless, my stranger, or thou hast come from afar, 
who biddest me either to fear or shun the gods. For the Cyclopes 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 257 

pay no heed to Zeus, lord of the aegis, nor to the blessed gods, for 
verily we are better men than they. Nor would I, to shun the 
enmity of Zeus, spare either thee or thy company, unless my 
spirit bade me. But tell me where thou didst stay thy well- 
wrought ship on thy coming? Was it perchance at the far end 
of the island, or hard by, that I may know?" 

* So he spake tempting me. but he cheated me not, who knew 
full much, and I answered him again with words of guile: 

1 "As for my ship, Poseidon, shaker of the earth, brake it to 
pieces, for he cast it upon the rocks at the border of your country, 
and brought it nigh the headland, and a wind bare it thither 
from the sea. But I with these my men escaped from utter 
doom. " 

4 So I spake, and out of his pitiless heart he answered me not 
a word, but sprang up and laid his hands upon my fellows, and 
clutching two together dashed them, as they had been whelps, to 
the earth, and the brain flowed forth upon the ground, and the 
The Cyclops earth was wet. Then cut he them up piecemeal, 

shows his . ■ 

cruelty. and made ready his supper. So he ate even as a 

mountain-bred lion, and ceased not, devouring entrails and flesh 
and bones with their marrow. And we wept and raised our hands 
to Zeus, beholding the cruel deeds; and we were at our wits' end. 
And after the Cyclops had filled his huge maw with human flesh 
and the milk he drank thereafter, he lay within the cave, stretched 
out among his sheep. 

1 So I took counsel in my great heart, whether I should draw 
near, and pluck my sharp sword from my thigh, and stab him in 
the breast, where the midriff holds the liver, feeling for the place 
with my hand. But my second thought withheld me, for so 
should we too have perished even there with utter doom, For we 
should not have prevailed to roll away with our hands from the 
lofty door the heavy stone which he set there. So for that time 
we made moan, awaiting the bright Dawn. 

' Now when early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, again 
he kindled the fire and milked his goodly flocks all orderly, and 
beneath each ewe set her lamb. Anon when he had done all his 
work busily, again he seized yet other two men and made ready 
his mid-day meal. And after the meal, lightly he moved away 



258 the world's literature 

the great door-stone, and drave his fat flocks forth from the cave, 
and afterwards he set it in his place again, as one might set the 
lid on a quiver. Then with a loud whoop, the Cyclops turned 
his fat flocks towards the hills; but I was left devising evil in the 
deep of my heart, if in any wise I might avenge me, and Athene 
grant me renown, 

' And this was the counsel that showed best in my sight. 
There lay by a sheep-fold a great club of the Cyclops, a club of 
olive wood, yet green, which he had cut to carry with him when 
it should be seasoned. Now when we saw it we likened it in size 
to the mast of a black ship of twenty oars, a wide merchant ves- 
sel that traverses the great sea gulf, so huge it was to view in 
bulk and length. I stood thereby and cut off from it a portion 
as it were a fathom's length, and set it by my fellows, and bade 
them fine it down, and they made it even, while I stood by and 
sharpened it to a point, and straightway I took it and hardened 
it in the bright fire. Then I laid it well away, and hid it beneath 
the dung, which was scattered in great heaps in the depths of the 
cave. And I bade my company cast lots among them, which of 
them should risk the adventure with me, and lift the bar and 
turn it about in his eye, when sweet sleep came upon him. And 
the lot fell upon those four whom I myself would have been fain 
to choose, and I appointed myself to be the fifth among them. 
In the evening he came shepherding his flocks of goodly fleece, 
and presently he drave his fat flocks into the cave each and all, 
nor left he any without in the deep court-yard, whether through 
some foreboding, or perchance that the god so bade him do. 
Thereafter he lifted the huge door-stone and set it in the mouth 
of the cave, and sitting down he milked the ewes and bleating 
goats, all orderly, and beneath each ewe he placed her young. 
Now when he had done all his work busily, again he seized yet 
other two and made ready his supper. Then I stood by the Cy- 
clops and spake to him, holding in my hands an ivy bowl of the 
dark wine: 

1 ' Cyclops, take and drink wine after thy feast of man's meat, 
that thou mayst know what manner of drink this was that our 
ship held. And lo, I was bringing it thee as a drink offering, if 
haply thou mayest take pity and send me on my way home, but 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 259 

thy mad rage is past all sufferance. O hard of heart, how may 
another of the many men there be come ever to thee again, seeing 
that thy deeds have been lawless? " 

1 So I spake, and he took the cup and drank it off, and found 
great delight in drinking the sweet draught, and asked me for it 
yet a second time: 

"Give it me again of thy grace, and tell me thy name straight- 
way, that I may give thee a stranger's gift, wherein thou may est 
be glad. Yea, for the earth, the grain-giver, bears for the Cy- 
clopes the mighty clusters of the juice of the grape, and the rain 
of Zeus gives them increase, but this is a rill of very nectar and 
ambrosia/' 

■ So he spake, and again I handed him the dark wine. Thrice 
I bare and gave it him, and thrice in his folly he drank it to the 
uiysses beguiles lees. Now when the wine had got about the 
winf. iant Wlt wits of the Cyclops, then did I speak to him with 
soft words : 

"Cyclops, thou askest me my renowned name, and I will de- 
clare it unto thee, and do thou grant me a stranger's gift, as thou 
didst promise. Xoman is my name, and Xoman they call me. 
my father and my mother and all my fellows." 

* So I spake, and straightway he answered me out of his piti- 
less heart: 

"Xoman will I eat last in the number of his fellows, and the 
others before him; that shall be thy gift." 

' Therewith he sank backwards and fell with face upturned, 
and there he lay with his great neck bent round, and sleep, that 
conquers all men, overcame him. And the wine and the frag- 
ments of men's flesh issued forth from his mouth, and he 
vomited, being heavy with wine. Then I thrust in that stake 
under the deep ashes, until it should grow hot, and I spake to 
my companions comfortable words, lest any should hang back 
from me in fear. But when that bar of olive wood was just 
about to catch fire in the flame, green though it was, and began 
to glow terribly, even then I came nigh, and drew it from the 
coals, and my fellows gathered about me. and some god breathed 
uiysses puts great courage into us. For their part they seized the 
eye. ' bar of olive wood, that was sharpened at the point. 



260 THE WORLDS LITERATURE 

and thVust into his eye, while I from my place aloft turned it 
about, as when a man bores a ship's beam with a drill while his 
fellows below spin it with a strap, which they hold at either end, 
and the auger runs round continually. Even so did we seize the 
fiery-pointed brand and whirled it round in his eye, and the blood 
flowed about the heated bar. And the breath of the flame singed 
his eyelids and brows all about, as the ball of the eye burnt 
away, and the roots thereof crackled in the flame. And as when 
a smith dips an axe or adze in chill water with a great hissing, 
when he would temper it — for hereby anon comes the strength 
of iron — even so did his eye hiss round the stake of olive. And 
he raised a great and terrible cry, that the rock rang around, and 
we fled away in fear, while he plucked forth from his eye the 
brand bedabbled in much blood. Then maddened with pain he 
cast it from him with his hands, and called with a loud voice on 
the Cyclopes, who dwelt about him in the caves along the windy 
heights. And the}' heard the cry and flocked together from 
every side, and gathering around the cave asked him what ailed 
him: 

1 "What hath so distressed thee, Polyphemus, that thou criest 
thus aloud through the immortal night, and makest us sleepless ? 
Surely no mortal driveth off thy flocks against thy will: surely 
none slayeth thyself by force or craft?" 

'And the strong Polyphemus spake to them again from out 
the cave, ''My friends, Noman is slaying me by guile, nor at all 
by force. " 

' And they answered and spake winged words: "If then no 
man is violently handling thee in thy solitude, it can in no wise 
be that thou shouldest escape the sickness sent by mighty Zeus. 
Nay, pray thou to thy father, the lord Poseidon, " 

' On this wise they spake and departed; and my heart within 
me laughed to see how my name and cunning counsel had 
beguiled them. But the Cyclops, groaning and travailing in 
pain, groped with his hands, and lifted away the stone from the 
door of the cave, and himself sat in the entry, with arms out- 
stretched to catch, if he might, any one that was going forth 
with his sheep, so witless, methinks, did he hope to find me. 
But I advised me bow all might be for the very best, if perchance 



SELECTIONS FROM THE OUYbSEY 261 

I might find a way of escape from death for my companions and 
myself, and I wove all manner of ©raft and counsel, as a man 
will for his life, seeing that great mischief was nigh. And this 
was the counsel that showed best in my sight. The rams of the 
flock were w r ell nurtured and thick of fleece, great and goodly. 
with wool as dark as the violet. Quietly I lashed them together 
with twisted withies, whereon the Cyclops slept, that lawless 
monster. Three together I took; now the middle one of the 
three would bear each a man, but the other twain went on either 
side, saving my fellows. Thus every three sheep bare their man. 
But as for me, I laid hold of the back of a young ram who was 
far the best and the goodliest of all the flock, and curled beneath 
his shaggy belly, there I lay, and so clung, face upward, grasp- 
ing the wondrous fleece with a steadfast heart. So for that time 
making moan, we awaited the bright Dawn. 

So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, then 
did the rams of the flock hasten forth to pasture, but the ewes 
bleated unmilked about the pens, for their udders were swollen 
to bursting. Then their lord, sore stricken with pain, felt along 
the backs of all the sheep as they stood up before him, and 
guessed not in his folly how that my men were bound beneath 
the breasts of his thick-fleeced flocks. Last of all the sheep 
came forth the ram, cumbered with his wool, and the weight of 
me and my cunning. And the strong Polyphemus laid his 
hands on him and spake to him, saying: 

' ' Dear ram, wherefore, I pray thee, art thou the 

The escape. - 

last of all the flocks to go forth from the cave, who 
of old wast not wont to lag behind the sheep, but wert ever the 
foremost to pluck the tender blossom of the pasture, faring with 
long strides, and wert still the first to come to the streams of the 
rivers, and first didst long to return to the homestead in the 
evening. But now art thou the very last. Surely thou are sor- 
rowing for the eye of thy lord, which an evil man blinded, with 
his accursed fellows, when he had subdued my wits with wine. 
even Noman, whom I say hath not yet escaped destruction. Ah. 
if thou couldst feel as I, and be endued with speech, to tell me 
where he shifts about to shun my wrath, then should he be smit- 
ten, and his brains be dashed against the floor here and there 



262 THE WORLDS LITEHATtJftE 

about the cave, and my heart be lightened of the sorrows which 
Noman, nothing worth, hath brought upon me! " 

Therewith he sent the ram forth from him, and when we 
had gone but a little way from the cave and from the yard, first 
I loosed myself from under the ram and then I set my fellows 
free. And swiftly we drave on those stiff-shanked sheep, so rich 
in fat, and often turned to look about, till we came to the ship. 
And a glad sight to our fellows were we that had fled from death, 
but the others they would have bemoaned with tears; howbeit I 
suffered it not, but with frowning brows forbade each man to 
weep. Rather I bade them to cast on board the many sheep 
with goodly fleece, and to sail over the salt sea water. So they 
embarked forthwith, and sate upon the benches, and sitting or- 
derly smote the grey sea water with their oars. But when I had 
not gone so far, but that a man's shout might be heard, then I 
spoke unto the Cyclops, taunting him: 

' ' Cyclops, so thou wert not to eat the company of a weak- 
ling by main might in thy hollow cave! Thine evil deeds were 
very sure to find thee out, thou cruel man, who hadst no shame 
to eat thy guests within thy gates, wherefore Zeus hath requited 
thee, and the other gods. " 

1 So I spake, and he was yet the more angered at heart, and 
he brake off the peak of a great hill and threw it at us, and it fell 
in front of the dark-pro wed ship. And the sea heaved beneath 
the fall of the rock, and the backward flow of the wave bare the 
ship quickly to the dry land, with the wash from the deep sea, 
and drave it to the shore. Then I caught up a long pole in my 
hands, and thrust the ship from off the land, and roused my 
company, and with a motion of the head bade them dash in with 
their oars, that so we might escape our evil plight. So they bent tc 
their oars and rowed on. But when we had now made twice the 
distance over the brine, I would fain have spoken to the Cy- 
clops, but my company stayed me on every side with soft words, 
saying: 

1 ' Foolhardy that thou art, why wouldst thou rouse a wild 
man to wrath, who even now hath cast so mighty a throw 
towards the deep and brought our ship back to land, yea and we 
thought that we had perished even there ? If he had heard any 



* SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 263 

of us utter sound or speech he would have crushed our heads 
and our ship timbers with a cast of a rugged stone, so mightily 
he hurls." 

' So spake they, but they prevailed not on my lordly spirit, 
and I answered him again from out an angry heart: 

1 ' Cyclops, if any one of mortal men shall ask thee of the 
unsightly blinding of thine eye, say that it was Ulysses that 
blinded it, the waster of cities, son of Laertes, whose dwelling is 
in Ithaca. " 

So I spake, and with a moan he answered me, saying: 

" Lo now, in very truth the ancient oracles have come upon 
me. There lived here a soothsayer, a noble man and a mighty, 
Telemus, son of Eurymus, who surpassed all men in soothsay- 
ing, and waxed old as a seer among the Cyclopes. He told me 
The prophecy that all these things should come to pass in the after- 
time, even that I should lose my eyesight at the 
hand of Ulysses. But I ever looked for some tall and goodly 
man to come hither, clad in great might, but behold now one* 
that is a dwarf, a man of no worth and a weakling, hath blinded 
me of my eye after subduing me with wine. Nay, come hither, 
Ulysses, that I may set by thee a stranger's cheer, and speed thy 
parting hence, that so the Earth-shaker may vouchsafe it thee, 
for his son am I, and he avows him for my father. And he him- 
self will heal me, if it be his will; and none other of the blessed 
gods or of mortal men.'' 

Even so he spake, but I answered him, and said: "Would 
god that I were as sure to rob thee of soul and life, and send thee 
within the house of Hades, as I am that not even the Earth- 
shaker will heal thine eye! " 

So I spake, and then he prayed to the lord Poseidon, stretch- 
ing forth his hands to the starry heaven: " Hear me, Poseidon, 
girdler of the earth, god of the dark hair, if indeed I be thine, 
and thou avowest thee, my sire, — grant that he may never come 
to his home, even Ulysses, waster of cities, the son of Laertes, 
whose dwelling is in Ithaca; yet if he is ordained to see his 
friends and come unto his well-builded house, and his own coun- 
try, late may he come in evil case, with the loss of all his com- 
pany, in the ship of strangers, and find sorrows in his house." 



264 tHE World 1 s liter Aftffcfl 

So he spake in prayer, and the god of the dark locks heard 
him. And once again he lifted a stone, far greater than the first, 
and with one swing he hurled it, and he put forth a measureless 
strength, and cast it but a little space behind the dark-prowed 
ship, and all but struck the end of the rudder. And the sea 
heaved beneath the fall of the rock, but the wave bare on the 
ship and drave it to the further shore. 

But when we had now reached that island, where all our 
other decked ships abode together, and our company were gath- 
The departure ered sorrowing, expecting us evermore, on our 

from No-Man's . 

Land. coming thither we ran our ship ashore upon the 

sand, and ourselves too stept forth upon the sea beach. Next we 
took forth the sheep of the Cyclops from out the hollow ship, 
and divided them, that none through me might go lacking his 
proper share. But the ram for me alone my goodly-greaved 
company chose out, in the dividing of the sheep, and on the shore 
I offered him up to Zeus, even to the son of Cronos, who dwells 
* in the dark clouds, and is lord of all, and I burnt the slices of 
the thighs. But he heeded not the sacrifice, but was devising 
how my decked ships and my dear company might perish ut- 
terly. Thus for that time we sat the livelong day, until the go- 
ing down of the sun, feasting on abundant flesh and sweet wine. 
And when the sun had sunk and darkness had come on, then we 
laid us to rest upon the sea beach. So soon as early Dawn shone 
forth, the rosy-fingered, I called to my company and commanded 
them that they should themselves climb the ship and loose the 
hawsers. So they soon embarked and sat upon the benches, and 
sitting orderly, smote the grey sea water with their oars. 

Thence we sailed onward, stricken at heart, yet glad as men 
saved from death, albeit we had lost our dear companions. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 265 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Selections. 

THE DEPARTURE OF ULYSSES FROM THE ENCHANTED PALACE OF 
CIRCE AS RELATED TO ALCTNOUS IN BOOK X. 

,; And who, Circe, will guide us on this way? for no man ever 
yet sailed to hell in a black ship." 

1 So spake I, and the fair goddess answered me anon: ''Son of 
Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Ulysses of many devices, nay, trouble 
not thyself for want of a guide, by thy ship abiding, but set up 
Circe instructs the mast and spread abroad the white sails and sit 

TJlvsses to so 

to Hades. thee down; and the breeze of the North Wind will 

bear thy vessel on her way. But when thou hast now sailed in 
thy ship across the stream Oceanus, where is a waste shore and 
the groves of Persephone, even tall poplar trees and willows that 
shed their fruit before the season, there beach thy ship by deep 
eddying Oceanus, but go thyself to the dank house of Hades. 
Thereby into Acheron flows Pyriphlegethon, and Cocytus, a 
branch of the water of the Styx, and there is a rock, and the 
The rivers of meeting of the two roaring waters. So, hero, draw 
Hen or Hades, ^g^ thereto, as T command thee, and dig a trench 
as it were a cubit in length and breadth, and about it pour a 
drink offering to all the dead, first with mead and thereafter with 
sweet wine, and for the third time with water, and sprinkle white 
meal thereon; and entreat with many prayers the strengthless 
heads of the dead, and promise that on thy return to Ithaca thou 
wilt offer in thy halls a barren heifer, the best thou hast, and 
wilt fill the pyre with treasure, and wilt sacrifice apart, to Tei- 
resias alone, a black ram without spot, the fairest of your flock. 
The rites neces- But when thou hast with prayers made supplication 
munication m " to the lordly races of the dead, then offer up a ram 
with the dead. ^ a black ewGj lending their heads towards 

Erebus and thyself turn thy back, with thy face set for the shore of 
the river. Then will many spirits come to thee of the dead that 



260 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

be departed. Thereafter thou shalt call to thy company and 
command them to flay the sheep which even now lie slain by the 
pitiless sword, and to consume them with fire, and to make prayer 
to the gods to mighty Hades and to dread Persephone. And thy- 
self draw the sharp sword from thy thigh and sit there, suffering 
not the strengthless heads of the dead to draw nigh to the blood, 
ere thou hast word of Teiresias. Then the seer will come to thee 
quickly, leader of the people; he will surely declare to thee the 
way and the measure of thy path, and as touching thy returning, 
how thou mayst go over the teeming deep." 

ULYSSES' DESCENT INTO HELL. HIS VISITS WITH THE GHOSTS OF 
ELPENOR, TEIRESIAS, HIS MOTHER, AGAMEMNON, ACHILLES 
AND OTHERS AS GIVEN IN BOOK XI. 

I drew my sharp sword from my thigh, and dug a pit, as it 
were a cubit in length and breadth, and about it poured a drink- 
offering to all the dead, first with mead and thereafter with sweet 
wine, and for the third time with water. And I sprinkled white 
meal thereon, and entreated with many prayers the strengthless 
heads of the dead, and promised that on my return to Ithaca I would 
offer in my halls a barren heifer, the best I had, and fill the pyre with 
treasure and apart unto Teiresias alone sacrifice a black ram with- 
out spot, the fairest of my flock. But when I had besought the 
tribes of the dead with vows and prayers, I took the sheep and 
cut their throats over the trench, and the dark blood flowed forth, 
and lo, the spirits of the dead that be departed gathered them 
from out of Erebus. Brides and youths unwed, and old men of 
many and evil days, and tender maidens with grief yet fresh at 
heart; and many there were wounded with bronze-shod spears, 
scenes in Hades, men slain in fight with their bloody mail about 
stndyof°vir? e them. And these many ghosts flocked together 
IndDante^s from every side about the trench with a wondrous 
cry, and pale fear gat hold on me. Then did I speak 
to my company and command them to flay the sheep that lay 
slain by the pitiless sword, and to consume them with fire, and 
to make prayer to the gods, to mighty Hades and to dread Per- 
sephone, and myself I drew the sharp sword from my thigh and 
sat there, suffering not the strengthless heads of the dead to draw 
nigh to the blood, ere I had word of Teiresias. 



SELECTIONS EROM THE ODYSSEY 267 

And first came the soul of Elpenor, my companion, that had 
not yet been buried beneath the wide-wayed earth; for we left 
the corpse behind us in the hall of Circe, unwept and unburied, 
seeing that another task was instant on us. At the sight of him 
I wept and had compassion on him, and uttering my voice spake 
to him winged words: "Elpenor, how hast thou come beneath 
the darkness and the shadow? Thou hast come fleeter on foot 
than I in my black ship." 

So spake I, and with a moan he answered me, saying: " Son 
of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Ulysses of many devices, an evil 
doom of some god was my bane and wine out of measure. When 
riysses meets I ^ a ^ me down on the house-top of Circe I minded 
Eipenor. me not to (j escen( 3 again by the way of the tall lad- 

der, but fell right down from the roof, and my neck was broken 
off from the bones of the spine, and my spirit went down to the 
house of Hades. And now I pray thee in the name of those whom 
we left, who are no more with us. thy wife, and thy sire who 
cherished thee when as yet thou wert a little one, and Telemachus, 
whom thou didst leave in thy halls alone; forasmuch as I know 
that on thy way hence from out the dwelling of Hades, thou 
wilt stay thy well-wrought ship at the isle Aeaean, even then, my 
lord, I charge thee to think on me. Leave me not unwept and 
unburied as thou goest hence, nor turn thy back upon me, lest 
haply I bring on thee the anger of the gods. Nay, burn me there 
with mine armour, all that is mine; and pile me a barrow on the 
shore of the grey sea, the grave of a luckless man, that even men 
unborn may hear my story. Fulfil me this and plant upon the 
barrow mine oar, wherewith I rowed in the days of my life, while 
3 T et I was among my fellows." 

Even so he spake, and I answ r ered him, saying: "All this, 
luckless man, will I perform for thee and do." 

Even so we twain were sitting holding sad discourse, I on 
the one side, stretching forth my sword over the blood, while on 
the other side the ghost of my friend told all his tale. 

Anon came up the soul of my mother *dead, Anticleia, the 
daughter of Autolycus the great-hearted, whom I left alive when 
I departed for sacred Ilios. At the sight of her I wept, and was 
moved with compassion, yet even so, for all my sore grief, I suf- 



268 TUfi WOftLD*S LITERATURE 

fered her not to draw nigh to the blood, ere I had word of Tei- 
resias. 

Anon came the soul of Theban Teiresias, with a golden 
uiysses meets sceptre in his hand, and he knew me and spake 
hfwtog toe ex- 1 " unto me: "Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, 
mer/vfrgS 0- Ulysses of many devices, what seekest thou now, 
&eekhiSat£er wretched man, wherefore hast thou left the sun- 
light and come hither to behold the dead and a 
land desolate of joy? Nay, hold off from the ditch and draw 
back thy sharp sword, that I may drink of the blood and tell 
thee sooth." 

' So spake he, and I put up my silver-studded sword into the 
sheath, and when he had drunk the dark blood, even then did 
the noble seer speak unto me, saying: " Thou art asking of thy 
sweet returning, great Ulysses, but that will the god make hard 
for thee; for methinks thou shalt not pass unheeded by the 
Shaker of the Earth, who hath laid up wrath in his heart against 
thee, for rage at the blinding of his dear son. Yet even so, 
through many troubles, ye may come home, if thou wilt restrain 
thy spirit and the spirit of thy men so soon as thou shalt bring 
thy well-wrought ship nigh to the isle Thrinacia, fleeing the sea 
of violet blue, when ye find the herds of Helios grazing and his 
brave flocks, of Helios who overseeth all and overheareth all 
things. If thou doest these no hurt, being heedful of thy return, 
so may ye yet reach Ithaca, albeit in evil case. But if thou 
hurtest them, I foreshow ruin for thy ship and for thy men, and 
even though thou shalt thyself escape, late shalt thou return in 
evil plight, with the loss of all thy company, on board the ship 
of strangers, and thou shalt find sorrows in thy house, even 
proud men that devour thy living, while they woo thy godlike 
wife and offer the gifts of wooing. Yet I tell thee, on thy com- 
ing thou shalt avenge their violence. But when thou hast slain 
the wooers in thy halls, whether by guile, or openly with the 
edge of the sword, thereafter go thy way, taking with thee a 
shapen oar, till thou shalt come to such men as know not the 
sea, neither eat meat savored with salt; yea, nor have they 
knowledge of ships of purple cheek, nor shapen oars which serve 
for wings to ships. And I will give thee a most manifest token, 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 269 

which cannot escape thee. In the day when another wayfarer 
shall meet thee and say that thou hast a winnowing fan on thy 
stout shoulder, even then make fast thy shapen oar in the earth 
and do goodly sacrifice to the lord Poseidon, even with a ram and 
a bull and a boar, the mate of swine, and depart for home and 
offer holy hecatombs to the deathless gods that keep the wide 
heaven, to each in order due. And from the sea shall thine own 
death come, the gentlest death that may be, which shall end thee 
foredone with smooth old age, and the folk shall dwell happily 
around thee. This that I say is sooth." 

So spake he, and I answered him, saying: "Teiresias, all 
these threads, methinks, the gods themselves have spun. But 
come, declare me this and plainly tell me all. I see here the 
spirit of my mother dead; lo, she sits in silence near the blood, 
nor deigns to look her son in the face nor speak to him ! Tell 
me, prince, how may she know me again that I am he?" 

So spake I, and anon he answered me, and said: "I will 
tell thee an easy saying, and will put it in thy heart. Whomso- 
ever of the dead that be departed thou shalt suffer to draw nigh 
to the blood, he shall tell thee sooth; but if thou shalt grudge 
any, that one shall go to his own place again." Therewith the 
spirit of the prince Teiresias went back within the house of 
Hades, when he had told all his oracles. But I abode there 
steadfastly, till my mother drew nigh and drank the dark blood, 
and at once she knew me, and bewailing herself, spake to me 
winged words: 

"Dear child, how didst thou come beneath the darkness 
and the shadow, thou that art a living man ? Grievous is the 
sight of these things to the living, for between us and you are 
great rivers and dreadful streams; first, Oceanus, which can no 
wise be crossed on foot, but only if one have a well- wrought ship. 
Art thou but now come hither with thy ship and thy company 
in thy long wanderings from Troy? and hast thou not yet 
reached Ithaca nor seen thy wife in thy halls ? " 

'Even so she spake, and I answered her and said: " O, my 
mother, necessity was on me to come down to the house of Hades 
to seek the spirit of Theban Teiresias. For not yet have I drawn 
near to the Achaean shore, nor yet have I set foot on mine own 



2 70 the world's literature 

country, but have been wandering evermore in affliction, from 
the day that first I went with goodly Agamemnon to Ilios of the 
fair steeds, to do battle with the Trojans. But come, declare 
me this and plainly tell it all. What doom overcame thee of 
death that lays men at their length? Was it a slow disease, or 
did Artemis the archer slay thee with a visitation of her gentle 
shafts? And tell me of my father and my son, that I left behind 
me; doth my honor yet abide with them, or hath another already 
taken it, while they say that I shall come home no more? And 
tell me of my wedded wife, of her counsel and her purpose, doth 
she abide with her son and keep all secure, or hath she already 
wedded the best of the Achaeans?" 

'Even so I spake, and anon my lady mother answered me: 
" Yea, verily, she abideth with steadfast spirit in thy halls; and 
wearily for her the nights wane always and the days in shedding 
of tears. But the fair honor that is thine no man hath yet 
taken; but Telemachus sits at peace on his demesne, and feasts 
at equal banquets, whereof it is meet that a judge partake, for 
all men bid him to their house. And thy father abides there in 
the field, and goes not down to the town, nor lies he on bedding 
or rugs or shining blankets, but all the winter he sleeps, where 
sleep the thralls in the house, in the ashes by the fire, and is clad 
in sorry raiment. But when the summer comes and the rich 
harvest-tide, his beds of fallen leaves are strewn lowly all about 
the knoll of his vineyard plot. There he lies sorrowing and 
nurses his mighty grief, for long desire of thy return, and old 
age withal comes heavy upon him. Yea, and even so did I too 
perish and meet my doom. It was not the archer goddess of the 
keen sight, who slew me in my halls with the visitation of her 
gentle shafts, nor did any sickness come upon me such as chiefly 
with a sad wasting draws the spirit from the limbs; nay, it was 
my sore longing for thee, and for thy counsels, great Ulysses, 
and for thy loving-kindness, that reft me of sweet life." 

So spake she, and I mused in my heart and would fain have 
embraced the spirit of mv mother dead. Thrice I 

In like manner _ . _ .-,-,. i_ 

^Eneas endeav- sprang towards her, and was minded to embrace 

ors to embrace . . , 

his father; her; thrice she flitted from mv hands as a shadow, 

jEneid, Book VI. 

or even as a dream, and grief waxed ever the sharper 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 271 

at my heart. And uttering my voice, I spake to her winged 
words: 

" Mother mine, wherefore dost thou not abide me who am 
Ulysses meets ea c er t0 clasp thee, that even in Hades we twain 
woufdembrace may cast our arms each about the other, and have 
her - our fill of chill lament? Is this but a phantom that 

the high goddess Persephone hath sent me to the end that I may 
groan for more exceeding sorrow?" 

So spake I, and my lady mother answered me anon: "Ah 
me, my child, of all men most ill-fated, Persephone, the daugh- 
ter of Zeus, doth in no wise deceive thee, but even on this wise it 
is with mortals when they die. For the sinews no more bind to- 
gether the flesh and the bones, but the great force of burning 
fire abolishes these, so soon as the life hath left the white bones, 
and the spirit, like a dream, flies forth and hovers near. But 
haste with all thine heart toward the sunlight, and mark all this, 
that even hereafter thou mayest tell it to thy wife." 

Thus we twain held discourse together; and lo, the women - 
came up. for the high goddess Persephone sent them forth, all 
they that had been the wives and daughters of mighty men. 
And they gathered and flocked about the black blood, and I took 
counsel how I might question them each one. And this was the 
counsel that showed best in my sight. I drew my long hanger 
from my stalwart thigh, and suffered them not all at one time to 
drink of the dark blood. So they drew nigh one by one, and 
each declared her lineage, and I made question of all." 

Here follows an account of the ghosts of the women 
who came up to speak with Ulysses. 

1 Now when holy Persephone had scattered this way and that 
uiysses meets the spirits of the women folk, thereafter came the 
Agamemnon. sou j £ Agamemnon, son of Atreus, sorrowing; and. 
round him others were gathered, the ghosts of them who had died 
with him in the house of Aegisthus and met their doom. And he 
knew me straightway, when he had drunk the dark blood, yea, 
and he wept aloud, and shed big tears as he stretched forth his 
hands in his longing to reach me. But it might not be, for he 
had now no steadfast strength nor power at all to move, such as 
was aforetime in his supple limbs. 



272 the world's literature 

At the sight of him I wept and was moved with compassion, 
and uttering my voice, spake to him winged words: "Most re- 
nowned son of Atreus, Agamemnon, king of men, say what doom 
overcame thee of death that lays men at their length ? Did Posei- 
don smite thee in thy ships, raising the dolorous blast of con- 
trary winds, or did unfriendly men do thee hurt upon the land, 
whilst thou wert cutting off their oxen and fair flocks of sheep, 
or fighting to win a city and the women thereof? " . 

So spake I, and straightway he answered and said unto me: 
' ' Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Ulysses of many devices, it 
was not Poseidon that smote me in my ships, and raised the 
dolorous blast of contrary winds, nor did unfriendly men do me 
hurt upon the land, but Aegisthus it was that wrought me death 
and doom and slew me, with the aid of my accursed wife, as one 
slays an ox at the stall, after he had bidden me to his house, and 
entertained me at a feast. Even so I died by a death most piti- 
ful, and round me my company likewise were slain without ceas- 
ing, like swine with glittering tusks which are slaughtered in the 
house of a rich and mighty man, whether at a wedding banquet 
or a joint-feast or a rich clan-drinking. 

Thus we twain stood sorrowing, holding sad discourse, while 
the big tears fell fast; and therewithal came the soul of Achilles, 
son of Peleus, and of Patroclus and of noble Antilochus and of 
Aias, who in face and form was goodliest of all the Danaans, after 
the noble son of Peleus. And the spirit of the son of Aeacus, 
fleet of foot, knew me again, and making lament spake to me 
winged words: 

1 ' Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Ulysses of many devices, 
man overbold, what new deed and hardier than this wilt thou de- 
vise in thy heart ? How durst thou come down to the house of 
Hades, where dwell the senseless dead, the phantoms of men out- 
worn ? " 

So he spake, but I answered him: " Achilles, son of Peleus, 
mightiest far of the Achaean s, I am come hither to seek Teiresias, 
if he may tell me any counsel, how I may come to rugged Ithaca. 
For not yet have I come nigh the Achaean land, nor set foot on 
mine own soil, but am still in evil case; while as for thee, Achilles, 
none other than thou wast heretofore the most blessed of men, 



SELECTION'S FROM THE ODYSSEY 273 

nor shall any be hereafter. For of old in the days of thy life, we 
Argives gave thee one honor with the gods., and now thou art a 
great prince here among the dead. Wherefore let not thy death 
be any grief to thee. Achilles." 

1 Even so I spake, and he straightway answered me, and said, 
"Nay, speak not comfortably to me of death, oh great Ulysses. 
The ghost of Rather would I live on ground as the hireling of 

Achilles. This , .-,,., , -, ?. 

is reaiiy the another, with a landless man who had no srreat live- 
ending of the 
mad. lihood, than bear sway among all the dead that be 

departed. But come, tell me tidings of that lordly son of 

mine — did he follow to the war to be a leader or not ? And tell 

me of noble Peleus, if thou hast heard aught, — is he yet held in 

worship among the Myrmidons, or do they dishonor him from 

Hellas to Phthia. for that old age binds him hand and foot? 

For I am no longer his champion under the sun, so mighty a man 

as once I was, when in wide Troy I slew the best of the host, and 

succoured the Argives. Ah! could I but come for an hour to my 

father's house as then I was, so would I make my might and 

hands invincible, to be hateful to many an one of those who do 

him despite and keep him from his honor. " 

' Even so he spake, but I answered him saying: " As for noble 

Peleus, verily 1 have heard nought of him: but concerning thy 

dear son Xeoptolemus, I will tell thee all the truth, according to 

thy word. It was I that led him up out of Scyros, in my good 

hollow ship, in the wake of the goodly-greaved Achaeans. Now 

oft as we took counsel around Troy town, he was ever the first to 

speak, and no word missed the mark; the godlike Xestor and I 

alone surpassed him. But whensoever we Achaeans did battle 

on the plain of Troy, he never tarried behind in the throng or the 

press of men, but ran out far before us all, yielding to none in 

that might of his. And many men he slew in warfare dread, but 

I could not tell of all or name their names, even all the host he 

slew in succouring the Argives, save only how he smote with the 

sword that son of Telephus, the hero Eurypylus, and many Cet- 

eians of his company were slain around him, by reason of a 

woman's bribe. He truly was the comeliest man that ever I saw, 

next to goodly Memnon. And again when we, the best of the 

Argives, were about to go down into the horse which Epeus 



274 the world's literature 

wrought, and the charge of all was laid on me, both to open the 
door of our good ambush and to shut the same, then did the 
other princes and counsellors of the Danaans wipe away the tears, 
and the limbs of each one trembled beneath him, but never once 
did I see thy son's fair face wax pale, nor did he wipe the tears 
from his cheeks; but he besought me often to let him go forth 
from the horse, and kept handling his sword-hilt, and his heavy 
bronze-shod spear, and he was set on mischief against the Trojans. 
But after we had sacked the steep city of Priam, he embarked 
unscathed with his share of the spoil, and with a noble prize; he 
was not smitten with the sharp spear, and got no wound in close 
fight; and many such chances there be in war, for Ares rageth 
confusedly." 

So I spake, and the spirit of the son of Aeacus, fleet of foot, 
passed with great strides along the mead of asphodel, rejoicing 
in that I had told him of his son's renown. 

' But lo, other spirits of the dead that be departed stood sor- 
rowing, and each one asked of those that were dear to them. 
The ghost of The soul of Aias son of Telamon, alone stood apart. 

Ajax appears .■'.,, T 

to Ulysses. being still angry tor the victory wherein I prevailed 
analogous to against him, in the suit by the ships concerning 

the meeting of ° ^ ° 

Dido and^neas the arms of Achilles, that his lady mother had set 

as given by y 

virgii. f or a prize; and the sons of the Trojans made award 

and Pallas Athene. Would that I had never prevailed and won 
such a prize ! So goodly a head hath the earth closed over, 
for the sake of those arms, even over Aias, who in beauty 
and in feats of war was of a mould above all the other Danaans. 
next to the noble son of Peleus. To him then I spake softly, 
saying: 

"Aias, son of noble Telamon, so art thou not even in death to 
forget thy wrath against me, by reason of those arms accursed, 
which the gods set to be the bane of the Argives? What a tower 
of strength fell in thy fall, and we Achaeans cease not to sorrow 
for thee, even as for the life of Achilles, son of Peleus ! Nay, 
there is none other to blame, but Zeus, who hath borne wondrous 
hate to the army of the Danaan spearsmen, and laid on thee thy 
doom. Nay, come hither, my lord, that thou may est hear my 
word and my speech; master thy wrath and thy proud spirit." 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 2*75 

So I spake, but he answered me not a word and passed to 
Erebus after the other spirits of the dead that be departed. Even 
then, despite his anger, would he have spoken to me or I to him. 
but my heart within me was minded to see the spirits of those 
that were departed. 

There then I saw Minos, glorious son of Zeus, wielding a 
golden sceptre, giving sentence from his throne to the dead. 
Minos judtre while they sat and stood around the prince, asking 
over the dead, his dooms through the wide-gated house of Hades. 

• Moreover I beheld Tantalus in grievous torment, standing in 

a mere and the water came nigh unto his chin. And he stood 

straining as one athirst. but he might not attain to 

Tantalus. ° 

the water to drink of it. For often as that old 
man stooped down in his eagerness to drink, so often the water 
was swallowed up and it vanished away, and the black earth 
still showed at his feet, for some god parched it evermore. And 
tall trees flowering shed their fruit overhead, pears and pome- 
granates and apple trees with bright fruit, and sweet figs and 
olives in their bloom, whereat when that old man reached out his 
hands to clutch them, the wind would toss them to the shadowy 
clouds. 

Yea and I beheld Sisyphus in strong torment, grasping a 
monstrous stone with both his hands. He was pressing thereat 
with hands and feet, and trying to roll the stone up- 
ward toward the brow of the hill. But oft as he 
was about to hurl it over the top, the weight would drive him 
back, so once again to the plain rolled the stone, the shameless 
thing. And he once more kept heaving and straining, and the 
sweat the while was pouring down his limbs, and the dust rose 
upwards from his head. 

'And after him I descried the mighty Heracles, his phantom. 
I say; but as for himself he hath joy at the banquet among the 
deathless gods, and hath to wife Hebe of the fair ankles, child 
of great Zeus, and of Here of the golden sandals. And all about 
him there was a clamour of the dead, as it were fowls flying 
every way in fear, and he like black Xight, with bow uncased, 
and shaft upon the string, fiercely glancing around, like one in 
the act to shoot. And about his breast was an awful belt, a 



276 the world's liter atuee 

baldric of gold, whereon wondrous things were wrought, bears 
and wild boars and lions with flashing eyes, and strife and bat- 
tles and slaughters and murders of men. Nay, now that he hath 
fashioned this, never another may he fashion, whoso stored in his 
craft the device of that belt ! And anon he knew me when his 
eyes beheld me, and making lament he spake unto me winged 
words: 

' ' ' Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Ulysses of many de- 
vices: ah ! wretched one, dost thou too lead such a life of evil 
uiysses departs d° om > as I endured, beneath the rays of the sun ? I 
from Heii. was ^} ie son f Zeus Cronion, yet had I trouble 

beyond measure, for I was subdued unto a man far worse than I. 
And he enjoined on me hard adventures, yea and on a time he 
sent me hither to bring back the hound of hell; for he devised no 
harder task for me than this. I lifted the hound and brought 
him forth from out of the house of Hades; and Hermes sped me 
on my way and the grey-eyed Athene/' 

1 Therewith he departed again into the house of Hades, but I 
abode there still, if perchance some one of the hero folk besides 
might come, who died in old time. Yea and I should have seen 
the men of old, whom I was fain to look on, Theseus and Peirith- 
ous, renowned children of the gods. But ere that mighty be 
the myriad tribes of the dead thronged up together with won- 
drous clamour: and pale fear gat hold of me, lest the high god- 
dess Persephone should send me the head of the Gorgon, that 
dread monster, from out of Hades. 

' Straightway then I went to the ship and bade my men mount 
the vessel, and loose the hawsers. So speedily they went on 
board, and sat upon the benches. And the wave of the flood 
bore the barque down the stream of Oceanus, we rowing first, 
and afterwards the fair wind was our convoy. 

THE BENDING OF ULYSSES' BOW AND THE KILLING OF THE SUIT- 
ORS AS FOUND IN BOOKS XXI. AND XXII. 

1 Hear me, ye lordly wooers, that have vexed this house, that 

ye might eat and drink here evermore, forasmuch as the master 

Penelope brings is l° n g gone, nor could ye find any other mark for 

sufto?s W ^ook your speech, but all your desire was to wed me and 

take me to wife. Xay, come now, ye wooers, see- 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 2 V 7 

ing that this is the prize that is put before you. I will set forth 
for you the great bow of divine Ulysses, and whoso shall most 
easil} T string the bow in his hands, and shoot through all twelve 
axes, with him will I go and forsake this house, this honorable 
house, so very fair and filled with all livelihood, which methinks 
I shall yet remember, aye, in a dream/ " 

All attempts of the suitors to bend the bow prove 
ineffectual, but Ulysses, with ease, sends an arrow 
through twelve rings and then turns his powers on the 
suitors. 

' * Then Ulysses of many counsels stripped him of his rags and 
leaped on to the great threshold with his bow and quiver full of 
arrows, and poured forth all the swift shafts there before his feet, 
and spake among the wooers: 

' Lo, now is this terrible trial ended at last; and now will I 
make for another mark, which never yet man has smitten, if 
perchance I may strike it and Apollo grant me renown.' 

With that he pointed the bitter arrow at Antinous. Xow he 
was about raising to his lips a fair two-eared chalice of gold, and 
uiysses shoots behold, he was handling it to drink of the wine, and 

tne leader first, fe^ffr was f ar f rom his thoughts. For who among 

men at feast would deem that one man amongst so many, how 
hardy soever he were, would bring on him foul death and black 
fate ? But Ulysses aimed and smote him with the arrow in the 
throat, and the point passed clean out through his delicate neck, 
and he fell back and the cup dropped from his hand as he was 
smitten, and at once through his nostrils there came up a thick 
jet of slain man's blood, and quickly he spurned the table from 
him with his foot, and spilt the food on the ground, and the 
bread and the roast flesh were defiled. Then the wooers raised a 
clamor through the halls when they saw the man fallen, and they 
leaped from their high seats, as men stirred by fear, all through 
the hall, peering everywhere along the well-builded walls, and 
nowhere was there a shield or mighty spear to lay hold on, Then 
they reviled Ulysses with angry words: 



278 THE WORLDS LITERATURE 

1 Stranger, thou doest ill to shoot at men. Never again shalt 
Theremon- thou enter other lists, now is utter doom assured 

?SS2|?auit. tnee - Yea > for now nast thou slain tne man that 
was far the best of all the noble youths in Ithaca; 
wherefore vultures shall devour thee here/ 

So each one spake, for indeed they thought that Ulysses had 
not slain him wilfully; but they knew not in their folly that on 
their own heads, each and all of them, the bands of death had 
been made fast. Then Ulysses of many counsels loured on them, 
and spake: 

1 Ye dogs, ye said in your hearts that I should never more 
come home from the land of the Trojans, in that ye wasted my 
house, and ruled the maidservants by force, and traitorously 
wooed my wife while I was yet alive, and ye had no fear of the 
gods, that hold the wide heaven, nor of the indignation of men 
hereafter. But now the bands of death have been made fast 
upon you, one and all.' 

Even so he spake, and pale fear gat hold on the limbs of all, 
and each man looked about, where he might shun utter doom. 
And Eurymachus alone answered him, and spake:. ' If thou art 
indeed Ulysses of Ithaca, come home again, with right thou 
speakest thus, of all that the Achaeans have wrought, many 
infatuate deeds in thy halls and many in the field. Howbeit, he 
now lies dead that is to blame for all, Antinous; for he brought 
all these things upon us, not as longing very greatly for the mar- 
riage nor needing it sore, but with another purpose, that Cronion 
has not fulfilled for him, namely, that he might himself be king- 
over all the land of stablished Ithaca, and he was to have lain in 
wait for thy son and killed him. But now he is slain after his 
deserving, and do thou spare thy people, even thine own; and we 
will hereafter go about the township and yield thee amends for 
all that has been eaten and drunken in thy halls, each for him- 
self bringing atonement of twenty oxen worth, and requiting 
thee in gold and bronze till thy heart is softened, but till then 
none may blame thee that thou art angry.' 

And Ulysses of many counsels looked askance on him, and 
said: ' Eurymachus, not even if ye gave me all your heritage, 
all that ye now have, and whatsoever else ye might in any wise 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 279 

add thereto, not even so would I henceforth hold my hands from 
slaying, ere the wooers had paid for all their transgressions. 
And now the choice lies before you, whether to fight in fair bat- 
tle or to fly, if any may avoid death and the fates. But there be 
some, methinks, that shall not escape from utter doom.' 

He spake, and their knees were straightway loosened and 
their hearts melted within them. And Eurymachus spake among 
them yet again: 

' Friends, it is plain that this man will not hold his uncon- 
querable hands, but now that he has caught up the polished 
They prepare bow and quiver, he will shoot from the smooth 
for defense. threshold till he has slain us all; wherefore let us 
take thought for the delight of battle. Draw your blades, and 
hold up the tables for shields against the arrows of swift death, 
and let us all have at him with one accord, and drive him, if it 
may be, from the threshold and the doorway and then go through 
the city, and quickly would the cry be raised. Thereby should 
this man soon have shot his latest bolt.' 

Therewith he drew his sharp two-edged sword of bronze and 
leaped on Ulysses with a terrible cry, but in the same moment 
goodly U^sses shot the arrow forth and struck him 
on the breast, and drave the swift shaft into his 
liver. So he let the sword fall from his hand, and grovelling 
over the table, he bowed and fell, and spilt the food and the 
double cup on the floor. And in his agony he smote the ground 
with his brow, and spurning with both his feet, he struck 
against the high seat, and the mist of death was shed upon his 
. eyes. 

Therewith the two went forth and gat them from the hall. 
So they sat down by the altar of great Zeus, peering about on 
every side, still expecting death. And Ulysses peered all through 
the house, to see if any man was yet alive and hiding away to 
shun black fate. But he found all the sort of them fallen in their 
blood in the dust, like fishes that the fishermen have drawn forth 
in the meshes of the net into a hollow of the beach from out 
the grey sea, and all the fish sore longing for the salt sea waves, 
are heaped upon the sand, and the sun shines forth and takes 
their life away; so now the wooers lay heaped upon each other." 



280 the world's literature 

the character of ulysses as a son as found in book xxiv. 

" Then they went speedily to the house, while Utysses drew 
near to the fruitful vineyard to make trial of his father. Now 
he found not Dolius there, as he went down into the great gar- 
den, nor any of the thralls nor of their sons. It chanced that 
they had all gone to gather stones for a garden fence, and the old 
man at their head. So he found his father alone in the terraced 
vineyard, digging about a plant. He was clothed in a filthy 
doublet, patched and unseemly, with clouted leggings of oxhide 
bound about his legs, against the scratches of the thorns, and 
long sleeves over his hands by reason of the brambles, and on his 
head he w r ore a goatskin cap, and so he nursed his sorrow. Now 
The filial ten- when the steadfast goodly Ulysses saw his father 

clerness of , . , . ././» 

Ulysses. thus wasted with age and in great grief of heart, he 

stood still beneath a tall pear tree and let fall a tear. Then he 
communed with his heart and soul whether he should fall on his 
father's neck and kiss him, and tell him all, how he had returned 
and come to his own country, or whether he should first question 
him and prove him in every word. And as he thought within 
himself, this seemed to him the better way, namely, first to prove 
his father and speak to him sharply. So with this intent the 
goodly Ulysses went up to him. Now he was holding his head 
down and kept digging about the plant, while his renowned son 
stood by him and spake, saying: 

' Old man, thou hast no lack of skill in tending a garden; lo, 
thou carest well for all, nor is there aught whatsoever, either 
plant or fig-tree, or vine, yea, or olive, or pear, or garden-bed in 
all the close, that is not well seen to. Yet another thing will 
I tell thee and lay not up wrath thereat in thy heart. Thyself 
art scarce so well cared for, but a pitiful old age is on thee, and 
withal thou art withered and unkempt, and clad unseemly. It 
cannot be to punish thy sloth that thy master cares not for thee; 
there shows nothing of the slave about thy face and stature, for 
thou art like a kingly man, even like one who should lie soft, 
when he has washed and eaten well, as is the manner of the aged. 
But come declare me this and plainly tell it all. Whose thrall 
art thou, and whose garden dost thou tend? Tell me moreover 
truly, that I may surely know, if it be indeed to Ithaca that I am 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY 28i 

now come, as one yonder told me who met with me but now on 
the way hither. He was but of little understanding, for he 
deigned not to tell me all nor to heed my saying, when I ques- 
tioned him concerning my friend, whether indeed he is yet alive 
or is even now dead and within the house of Hades. For I will 
The indirect- declare it and do thou mark and listen: once did I 

J16SS of XJlvSSGS' 

character. kindly entreat a man in mine own dear country, 
who came to our home, and never yet has any mortal been dearer 
of all the strangers that have drawn to my house from afar. He 
declared him to be by lineage from out of Ithaca, and said that 
his own father was Laertes son of Arceisius. So I led him to our 
halls and gave him good entertainment, with all loving-kindness, 
out of the plenty that was within. Such gifts too I gave him as 
are due of guests; of well-wrought gold I gave him seven talents, 
and a mixing bowl of flowered work, ajl of silver, and twelve 
cloaks of single fold, and as many coverlets, and as many goodly 
mantles and doublets to boot, and besides all these, four women 
skilled in all fair works and most comely, the women of his 
choice.' 

Then his father answered him weeping: ' Stranger, thou art 
verily come to that country whereof thou askest, but outrageous 
men and fro ward hold it. And these thy gifts, thy countless 
gifts, thou didst bestow in vain. For if thou hadst found that 
man yet living in the land of Ithaca he would have sent thee on 
thy way with good return of thy presents, and with all hospitality, 
Laertes, a typi- as is due to the man that begins the kindness. But 

cal Greek 

father. come, declare me this, and plainly tell me all; how 

many years are passed since thou didst entertain him, tlry guest 
ill-fated, and my child, — if ever such an one there was, — hapless 
man, whom far from his friends and his country's soil, the fishes, 
it may be, have devoured in the deep sea, or on the shore he has 
fallen the prey of birds and beasts. His mother wept not over 
him nor clad him for burial, nor his father, we that begat him. 
Nor did his bride, whom men sought with rich gifts, the constant 
Penelope, bewail her lord upon the bier, as was meet, nor closed 
his eyes, as is the due of the departed.' 

Then the heart of Ulysses was moved, and up through his 
nostrils throbbed anon the keen sting of sorrow at the sight of 



282 the world's literature 

his dear father. And he sprang towards him and fell on his 
neck and kissed him, saying: 

1 Behold, I here, even I, my father, am the man of whom thou 
askest; in the twentieth year am I come to mine own country. 
But stay thy weeping and tearful lamentation, for I will tell thee 
all clearly, though great need there is of haste. I have slain the 
wooers in our halls and avenged their bitter scorn and evil deeds.' 

Then Laertes answered him and spake, saying: ' If thou art 
indeed Ulysses, mine own child, that art come hither, show me 
now a manifest token, that I may be assured.' 

Then Ulysses of many counsels answered him saying: ' Look 
first on this scar and consider it, that the boar dealt me with his 
uiysses proves wn ite tusk on Parnassus, whither I had gone, and 
his identity. t ^ ou fc^x, send me forth, thou and my lady mother, 
to Autolycus my mother's father, to get the gifts which when he 
came hither he promised and covenanted to give me. But come, 
and I will even tell thee the trees through all the terraced garden, 
which thou gavest me once for mine own, and I was begging of 
thee this and that, being but a little child, and following thee 
through the garden. Through these very trees we were going, 
and thou didst tell me the names of each of them. Pear-trees 
thirteen thou gavest me and ten apple-trees and figs two-score, 
and, as we went, thou didst name the fifty rows of vines thou 
wouldest give me, whereof each one ripened at divers times, with 
all manner of clusters on their boughs, when the seasons of Zeus 
wrought mightily on them from on high.' 

So he spake, and straightway his knees were loosened, and his 
heart melted within him, as he knew the sure tokens that Ulysses 
showed him. About his dear son he cast his arms, and the stead- 
fast goodly Ulysses caught him fainting to his breast." 



WOMEN OF HOMES 283 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Criticisms on "The Women of Homer" by J. Adding- 

ton Symonds. 

XAUSICAA. 

The most beautiful of all the female figures from the Odyssey, 
Xausicaa. has no legendary charm; she is neither the mystic god- 
dess nor weird woman, nor is hers the dignity of wifehood. She 
is simply the most perfect maiden, the purest, freshest, lightest- 
hearted girl of Greek romance. Ulysses passes straight from the 
island where elm and poplar and cypress overshadow Calypso's 
cavern into the company of this real woman. It is like coming 
from a land of dreams into a dewy garden when the sun has 
risen: the waves through which he has fared upon his raft have 
wrought for him, as it were, a rough reincarnation into the reali- 
ties of human life. For the sea-brine is a source of vigor, and 
into the deep he has cast together with Calypso's raiment, all 
memory of her. 

A prettier picture cannot be conceived than that drawn by 
Homer of Xausicaa with her handmaidens thronging together in 
the cart, which jogs downward through the olive gardens to the 
sea. The princess holds the whip and drives; and when she 
reaches the stream's mouth by the beach, she loosens the mules 
from the shafts, and turns them out to graze in the deep meadow. 
Then the clothes are washed, and luncheon is taken from the 
basket, and the game of ball begins. How the ball flew aside 
and fell into the water, and how the shrill cries of the damsels 
woke Ulysses from his sleep, everyone remembers. The girls are 
fluttered by the sight of the great naked man, rugged with brine 
and bruised with shipwreck. Xausicaa alone, as becomes a prin- 
cess, stands her ground and questions him. The simple delicacy 
with which this situation is treated makes the whole episode one 
of the most charming in Homer. Nothing can be prettier than 
the change from pity to admiration, expressed by the damsel. 



284 The world's literature 

when Ulysses has bathed in running water, and rubbed himself 
with oil and put on goodly raiment given him by the girls. 
Pallas sheds a treble grace upon his form, aud makes his hair to 
fall in clusters like hyacinth-blossoms, so that an artist who 
moulds figures of gilt silver could not shape a comelier statue. 
The princess wishes he would stay and be her husband. The 
girlish simplicity of Nausicaa is all the more attractive because 
the Phseacians are the most luxurious race described by Homer. 
The palace in which she dwells with her father is all of bronze 
and silver and gold; it shines like the sun, and a blue line marks 
the brazen cornice of the walls. Dogs of silver and gold, Vul- 
can's work, which can never grow old, protect the entrance. 
Richly woven robes are cast upon the couches in the hall, and 
light is shed upon the banquet-tables from blazing torches in the 
hands of golden boys. Outside the palace grows the garden with 
well-divided orchard-rows, where pears and figs and pomegranates 
and burnished apples and olives flourish all the year long. The 
seasons change not in Phaeacian land for winter or for summer. 
The west wind is always blowing. Pear follows after pear, 
apple after apple, and grape-bunch after grape-bunch in a never 
ending autumn dance, Vintage, too, is there; and there are the 
trim flower-beds; and two fountains flow through the gardens. 
The whole pleasure-ground seems to have been laid out with 
geometric Greek taste. It is a paradise of neatness, sunbright, 
clear to take in at a glance. In this delightful palace dwells 
Alcinous, a kind old man, among his sons; and much delight 
they take in dance and song and games of strength. The young 
men, whose beards are but just growing, leap in rythmic move- 
ment to the flute; the elder and more muscular run or wrestle, 
and much contempt do those hardy fellows, like English lads, 
reserve for men who are not athletes. Ulysses has to rebuke one 
of them by reminding him that faultlessly fair bodies are not 
always the temples of a godlike soul. Zeus gives not all his good 
gifts to one; for some men owe grace and favor to eloquence, 
others to beauty, and a man may be like to immortals in face and 
form, and yet a fool. Alcinous well describes the temper of his 
people when he says: ' We are not faultless boxers, nor yet wrest- 
lers; but with our feet we race swiftly, and none can beat us in 



WOMEN OF HOMER 285 

rowing; and we love the banquet, and the lyre and dancing, and 
gay raiment, and warm baths, and joys of love.' 

From this soft, luxurious, comely, pleasure-loving folk Nau- 
sicaa springs up like a pure blossom — anemone or lily of the 
mountains. She has all the sweetness of temper which distin- 
guishes Alcinous; but the voluptuous living of her people has 
not spoiled her. The maidenly reserve which she displays in her 
first reception of Ulysses, her prudent avoidance of being seen 
with him in the streets of the town while he is yet a stranger, 
and the care she takes that he shall suffer nothing by not coming- 
wit h her to the palace, complete the portrait of a girl who is as 
free from coquetry as she is from prudishness. Perhaps she 
strikes our fancy with most clearness when, after bathing and 
dressing, Ulysses passes her on his way through the hall to the 
banquet. She leaned against the pillar of the roof and gazed 
upon Ulysses and said: ' Hail, guest, and be thou mindful of me 
when perchance thou art in thine own land again, for to me the 
first thou dost owe the price of life.' This is the last word spokeu 
by Xausicaa in the Odyssey." 

PEXELOPE. 

" Penelope is the exact opposite of Helen. The central point 
in her character is intense love of home, an almost cat-like at- 
tachment to the house where she first enjoyed her husband's 
love, and which is still full of all the things that make her life 
worth having. Therefore, when at last she thinks that she will 
have to yield to the suitors and leave it, these words are always 
on her lips: 

' The home of my wedded years, exceeding fair, filled with all 
the goods of life, which even in dreams methinks I shall remem- 
ber. ' 

We can scarcely think of Penelope except in the palace of 
Ithaca, so firmly lias this home-loving instinct been imbedded in 
. her by her Maker. Xot only has Homer made it evident in the 
Odyssey that the love of Ithaca is subordinate in her soul to the 
love of Ulysses, but a beautiful Greek legend teaches how in 
girlhood she sacrificed the dearest ties that can bind a woman to 
her love for the hero who had -wooed and won her. Pausanias 



286 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

says that when Ulysses was carrying her upon his chariot forth 
to his own land, her father, Icarius, followed in their path and 
besought her to stay with him. The young man was equipped 
for the long journey. The old man pointed to the hearth 
she had known from childhood. Penelope, between them, 
answered not a word, but covered her face with a veil. 
This action Ulysses interpreted rightly, and led his bride 
away, willing to go where he would go, yet unwilling to 
abandon what she dearly loved. No second Ulysses could 
cross the woman's path. Among the suitors there was not one 
like him. Therefore she clung to her house-tree in Ithaca and 
none till he appeared might win her thence. Another character- 
istic of Penelope is her prudence. Having to deal with uproari- 
ous suitors camped in her son's halls, she deceives them with fair 
words and promises to choose a husband from their number 
when she has woven a winding sheet for Laertes. Three years 
pass, and the work is still not finished. At last a maiden tells 
the suitors that every night Penelope undoes by lamp-light what 
she had woven in the day time. This ruse of the defenseless 
woman has passed into a proverb. The same quality of mind 
makes her cautious in the reception of the husband she has 
waited for in widowhood through twenty years. The dog Argus 
has no doubt. He sees his master through the beggar's rags and 
dies of joy. 

The two meet at last together, he after his long wanderings, 
and she having suffered the insistance of the suitors in her pal- 
ace; and this is the pathos of the Odyssey. The woman, in spite 
of her withered youth and tearful years of widowhood, is still ex- 
pectant of her lord. He, unconquered by the pleasures cast 
across his path, unterrifled by all the dangers he endures, clings 
in thought to the bride whom he led forth, a blushing maiden, 
from her father's halls. O just, subtle and. mighty Homer! 
There is nothing of Greek here more than of Hebrew, or of Latin, 
or of German. It is pure humanity." 



HOMER TO THE FIRST OLYMPIAD 287 



CHAPTER XV. 

The Period between Homer and the first Olympiad. — 
1000 B. C. to 776 B. C. 

hesiod, 884 to 750 b. c. 
" Hesiod, though he belongs to the first age of Greek litera- 
ture, and ranks among the earliest of Hellenic poets, marks the 
transition from the heroic period to that of the 
ment of anew despots, when ethical inquiry began in Greece, 
thought as Like Homer, Hesiod is inspired by the Muses: alone 
Addington Sy- upon Mount Helicon, he received from them the 

monds. 

gift of inspiration. But the message which he com- 
municates to men does not concern the deeds of demi-gods and 
warriors. On the contrary, Hesiod introduces us to the domestic 
life of shepherds, husbandmen and merchants. Homely pre- 
cepts for the conduct of affairs and proverbs on the utility of 
virtue replace the glittering pictures of human passions and 
heroic strife which the Homeric poems present. A new element 
is introduced into literature, the element of man reflecting on 
himself, questioning the divine laws under which he is obliged 
to live, and determining the balance of good and evil which the 
days of youth and age bring with them in his earthly course. 
The individual is now occupied with his own personal cares and 
sorrows and brief joys. Living in the present, and perforce ac- 
commodating his imagination to the prose of human existence, 
he has forgotten to dream any longer of the past, or to recon- 
struct in fancy the poetic charm of visionary heroism. It was 
just this difference between Homer and Hesiod which led the 
aristocratic Greeks of a later age to despise the poet of Ascra. A 
king of Sparta is reported by Plutarch to have said that while 
Homer was the bard of warriors and noble men. Hesiod was the 
singer of slaves. In this saying the contempt of the military 
class for the peaceable workers of the world is forcibly expressed. 
It is an epigram which endears -Hesiod to the democratic critics 



288 the avorld's literature 

of the modern age. They can trace in its brief utterance the 
contempt which has been felt in all periods — especially among 
the historic Greeks, who regarded labor as ignoble, and among the 
feudal races, with whom martial prowess was the main-stay of 
society — for the unrecorded and un honored earners of the bread 
Hesiod, a turn- whereby the brilliant and the well-born live. 
SassicStera- Hesiod may therefore be taken as a type and first 
expression of a spirit in Greek literature, alien from 
that which Homer represents. The wrath and love of Achilles, 
the charm of Helen and the constancy of Penelope, the councils 
of the gods, the pathos of the death of Hector and the labors of 
Ulysses, are exchanged for dim and doleful ponderings upon the 
destiny of man, for the shadowy myth of Prometheus, and the 
vision of ages ever growing worse as they advance in time. All 
the rich and manifold picturing of suffering and action which 
the Odyssey and the Iliad display yields to such sombre medita- 
tion as a sad soul in the childhood of the world may pour forth, 
brooding on its own wrongs and on the woes of men around. 
The climax of the whole, after the justice of God has been quer- 
ulously arraigned, and the violence of princes has been appealed 
against with vain repetition, is a series of practical rules for daily 
conduct and a calendar of simple morals. 

Very little is known about Hesiod himself; nor can the date 

of his poems be fixed with certainty. Something of the same 

obscurity which surrounds Homer envelops Hesiod. Just as 

. J Homer was the mvthical hero of a school of epic 

Date of Hesiod. 

poets in Asia Minor and the islands, so Hesiod may 
be regarded as the president by title only, of a rival school of 
poets localized near Mount Helicon in Bceotia. That is to say, it 
is probable that the Hesiodic, like the Homeric, poems did not 
emanate from their supposed author as we read them now; but 
we may assume that they underwent changes, and received ad- 
ditions from followers who imbibed his spirit and attempted to 
preserve his style. Still Hesiod has a more distinct historic per- 
sonality than Homer. In the first place, the majority of ancient 
critics regarded him as later in date and more removed from the 
heroic age. Then again, he speaks in his own person, recording- 
many details of his life, and mentioning his father and his 



HOMER TO THE FIRST OLYMPIAD 289 

what we know brother. Homer remains forever lost, like Shakes- 
of Hesiod. peare, in the creatures of his own imagination. In- 

stead of the man Homer, we have Achilles and Ulysses whom he 
made immortal. Hesiod tells us about himself. A vein of per- 
sonal reflection, a certain tone of peevish melancholy, peculiar to 
the individual, runs through his poems. He is far less the mouth- 
piece of the heavenly Muse than a man like ourselves, touching 
his lyre at times with a divine grace, and then again sweeping the 
chords with a fretfulness that draws some jarring notes. 

We learn from the hexameters of Hesiod that he was born in 
Ascra in Bceotia. His father was an emigrant who came to Ascra 
in search of better fortune, forsaking evil poverty which Zeus 
gives to men. Near Helicon he dwelt in a sorry village, Ascra, 
bad in winter, rigorous in summer heat, at no time genial.' 
Among the first lines of the Theogony it appears that Hesiod kept 
sheep upon the slopes of Helicon; for it was there the Muse de- 
scended to visit him, and, after rebuking the shepherds for their 
idleness and grossness, gave him her sacred laurel-branch and 
taught him song. 

Husbandry was despised in Bceotia, and the pastoral poet led 
a monotonous and depressing life. The great event which changed 
its tenor was a lawsuit between himself and his brother Perses 
concerning the division of their inheritance. Perses, who 
was an idle fellow, after spending his own patrimony, tried 
to get that of Hesiod into his hands, and took his cause before 
judges whom he bribed. Hesiod was forced to relinquish his 
property, whereupon he retired from Ascra. This incident ex- 
plains why Hesiod dwelt so much upon the subject of justice in 
his poem of the Works and Days, addressed to Perses. Some of 
Hesiod's finest passages, his most intense and passionate utter- 
ances, are wrung from him by the injustice he had suffered; so 
true is the famous saying that poets 

4 Learn in suffering what they teach in song.' 

In verse and dialect the Hesiodic poems are not dissimilar 
from the Homeric, which proves that the Iliad had determined 
the style and standard of epic composition. Of the two poems as- 
cribed to Hesiod, the Theogony and the Works and Days, the 



290 the world's literature 

former was perhaps of greater value than the latter to the Greeks, 
though its genuineness as a Hesiodic production was disputed. 
It contained an authorized version of the genealogy of their gods 
and heroes, an inspired dictionary of mythology, from which to 
deviate was hazardous. But though this poem had thus a unique 
value for the ancients, it is hardly so interesting in the light of 
modern criticism as the Works and Days. The Works and Days 
marks the transition from the heroic epic to the moral poetry of 
Development the succeeding age, and forms the basis of direct 
ofthepm-lfy * ethical philosophy in Greece. Hesiod is thus not 
moral and pm£ only the mouthpiece of obscure handworkers in the 
osopnicai. earliest centuries of Greek history, the poet of their 

daity labors, sufferings, and wrongs, the singer of their doubts 
and infantine reflections on the world in which they had to toil; 
Hesiod, the he is also the immediate parent of gnomic verse, and 
gnomic verse, the ancestor of those deep thinkers who speculated 
a short verse in the later ages upon the mysteries of human life. 

containing a «,.-.. . 

maxim. The f orm of didactic poetry, as it has since been prac- 

ticed by the followers of Hesiod, was fixed by the appeal to Perses. " 

THE ORIGIN OF THE GODS. *FROM THE THEOGONY. 

"In the beginning let us sing of the Heliconian Muses, who 
protect the spacious and divine mount of Helicon, and dance 
about the violet colored fountain and altars of the mighty Cronos 
with their dainty feet. After bathing their soft skins in the 
sacred streams flowing from Mount Helicon, they begin choral 
dances beautiful and lovely, moving nimbly with their feet. 
a description Starting from thence they are wont to wend their 
of the Muses. wa ^ ^y night, shrouded by a thick haze, uttering ' 
sounds exceeding sweet in celebration of aegis-bearing Jove 
and majestic Juno, the Argive goddess who treads proudty 
in golden sandals. And* gleaming-eyed Athene, the daughter 
of Jove, they celebrate also; and Phoebus- Apollo, and Artemis 
the arrow-queen; and earth-encompassing, earth-shaking Posei- 
don; august Themis; Aphrodite shooting lively glances; Hebe 
of the golden crown; fair Dione; Aurora, and the great Sun and 
resplendent Moon; Latona and wily Cronos; Earth, mighty Ocean, 
dark Night, and the holy race of the other immortals, who 
^Bank's translation. 



HOMER TO THE FIRST OLYMPIAD 291 

first taught Hesiod a lovely song as he fed his lambs beneath 
divine Helicon. 

But first of all the Olympian Muses, daughters of Jove, ad- 
dressed me in a speech like this: ' Ye shepherds, dwelling a-field. 
Hesiod claims fit subjects for base reproach, nought but gluttons. 

that he re- . . ._, _ 

ceived his in- we know when we will how to sing fictions like unto 

spiration from .•.-.,. 

the Muses. truth, and when we will to sing exact truth. 

Thus said the daughters of mighty Jove, and they gave me a 
luxuriant olive branch as a staff; and they breathed into me a 
voice divine that I might sing both of the future and of the past. 

They bade me sing of the ever-living blessed gods, but ever 
first and last to sing of themselves. Why should we sing of the 
sacred oak or the rock? Come thou, Hesiod. Begin with the 
Muses, who as they sing delight the spirit of Jove, their father, 
within Olympus, telling of the present, and the future, and th* j 
past, their voices blending. From their lips sweet speech flows 
ceaselessly, whilst the halls of loud-thundering Jove, are glad- 
dened by their songs, and the top of snowy Olympus rings and 
the mansions of the immortals. They celebrate in song the 
august race of the gods who, in the beginning were produced 
TheTheogony from Earth and broad Heaven. Next thev chant 

first treats of " 

the origin of the praise or Zeus, most excellent of the gods and 

the Muses, and . . . " 

their office. mightiest in strength. And then the Olympian 
Muses gladden Jove's spirit by singing of the race of heroes, and 
mighty giants; the Muses I say, whom Mnemosyne, guardian of 
the corn-lands of Elenther, bare to Jove, that they might be a 
means of oblivion of ills and a rest from cares. Xine daughters 
were they, w r hose care is song. They possess minds at ease and 
their abode is a little distance from snowy Olympus, where are 
their bright dancing grounds. Xear them Cupid and the Graces 
dwell during festivals and with lovely voices join in praising the 
wise ways of all the immortals. 

The Muses, the nine daughters of mighty Jove are Clio, 
Euterpe, Thalia, and Melpomene, Terpsichore and Erato: Polym- 
The Muses are n i a > Urania, and Calliope, the eldest of them all. 
named. g^g a j so ^tends in the company of great kings. 

Whatever sovereign, the Muses shall look upon with favor at his 
birth, on his tongue shall they shed a honeyed dew, and from his 



292 the world's literature 

lips gentle words will drop. Then the people all 

Wise men are . 

favored by the look at him as he decides questions of law with 

Muses. 

righteous judgment, for he will be unerring in his 
counsels and will stay with his wisdom, a strife however great. 
When such a king goes through the city the people treat him as 

a god with gentle awe, and he is conspicuous among 

The divine -,.-,? 

origin of kings them in their assemblies, as is the sacred gift of the 

and poets. 

Muses among men. Harpers and men of song are 
children of Apollo and the Muses, but kings spring from Jove. 
Happy is he whom the Muses shall have loved. Sweet is the 
sound that flows from his mouth. 

Hail ! daughters of Jove ! and give the lovely song. Sing of 

the race of immortals who sprang from Earth and starry Heaven, 

and murky Night, whom the briny deep nourished. 

the Muses to Say, too, how at the first the gods and earth were 

tell him the ^ ° 

origin of the born, and rivers and the boundless deep, and the 

gods. 

shining stars, and thebroad Heaven above; and the 
gods who were sprung from these, the givers of good gifts; say how 
they divided their wealth and how they distributed their honours, 
and how at first they occupied Olympus with its many ravines. 
In truth then foremost sprang Chaos, and next broad-bosomed 
Earth, ever secure seat of all the immortals, who inhabit the 
The Muses peaks of snow-capt Olympus, and dark dim Tarta- 
reyeaithe rus } n a re cess of Earth; also Love, who is most 

origin of the 

gods to Hesiod. Deau tif ul among immortal gods, Love that subdues 
reason and prudent counsel. From Chaos sprang Erebus and 
black Night, and these two were the parent of iEther and Day. 
From Earth sprang starry Heaven that he might shelter her on 
all sides, so that she should be a secure seat for the blessed gods. 
From the Earth sprang forth also vast mountains, lovely haunts 
of deities, the Nymphs who dwell among' woodland hills, and the 
Sea and the great Deep. And Heaven and Earth were the 
parents of deep-eddying Ocean, the rivers Cceus and Crius, of 
^Hyperion and Iapetus, Thea and Rhea, Themis, Mnemosyne, and 
Phoebe with golden coronet and lovely Tethys. 

^Hyperion — "god of the sun, 'who travels high above the earth.' " 
Iapetus— a titan ; Rhea — goddess of mountains and forests ; Themis- 
justice ; Mnemosyne— memory ; Tethys— u the force of nature which 
nurtures all creation." 



HOMKR TO THE FIRST OLYMPIAD 293 

After these was burn, youngest, the wily Cronus in st sa^ 
of their children; he hated Heaven, his bloom-giving sire. TheD 
came the three Cyclopes, having an overbear! _ 

The children of . . ._ i. , , 

Heaven and spirit, Brontes. Steropes and Arses, the stout- 

Earth. 

hearted. He gave his thunder to Jove, and forged 
his lightnings. Xow these three were like gods, but a single eye 
was fixed in their mid-foreheaeds. Strength, force and invention 
were in their works. Again from Earth and Heaven sprung 
three other sons, great and mighty. Cottus. Briareus. and Gyas, 
children exceedingly proud. From the shoulders of these moved 
actively a hundred hands awful to approach, and there grew fifty 
heads from their shoulders. Xow monstrous strength is power- 
ful when joined with vast size, and Heaven hated his sons from 
the first, for they were very fierce. As soon as they were born 
he hid them in a cave in the earth and exulted over his mischief. 
But Earth groaned and devised an evil scheme. She forged a 
great sickle of white iron and encouraged her children to resent 
their father's acts of indignity to them. But fear seized on all 
Birth of the °^ them until the wily Cronus spake out offering to 
Funes. Va ^ Q ven g eance on the injustice of his father. Then 

huge Earth rejoiced and hid him in ambush and placed the 
sickle in his hand. And Cronus attacked his sire and gory drops 
fell to earth and into the sea, whence 'sprang the Furies, and 
mighty giants (fully armed with long spears), and oak-nymphs: 
and from the drops in the sea near divine Cythera. stepped forth 
an awful, beauteous goddess beneath whose delicate feet the ver- 
dure throve. Men and gods called her Aphrodite. 

Birth of Venus. , ., 

the foam sprung goddess. 
" White rose of the rose-white water, a silver splendor, a flame. 
Bent down unto us that besought her, and earth grew sweet with 
her name.'"* 
"And Night was the mother of Destiny, and black Fate, and 
Death; of Sleep likewise and the tribe of dreams. And her 
children were fatherless. Xext Momus and Care, full of woes. 
Momus the god an d the Hesperides whose care are the fair golden 
andridicu?e- the a PP^ es - And Night produced the Destinies and the 
Sr h xfght Udren ruthless Fates, Clotho. Lachesis and Atropos. who 
assign good and evil to men at their birth; who also 
*Swinburne. 



294 THE WORLDS LITERATURE 

pursue the transgressions both of men and gods, nor do they ever 
cease from dread wrath before they have repaid sore vengeance 
to him who hath sinned. 

Then pernicious Night bare Nemesis also, a woe to mortal men. 
After which she brought forth Fraud, mischievous Old Age, and 
Hesiodgivesa stubborn-hearted Strife. Odious strife gave birth 
hisUothlr at t0 Trou ble, Oblivion, Famine, tearful Woes, Con- 
Perses. tests, Slaughters, Fights, Murderers, Contentions, 

Falsehoods, Words, Disputes, Lawlessness and Ruin (these two 
are intimate friends), and the Oath, Perjury, which hurts men 
most." 

The Theogony proceeds to give the genealogy of 
those gods related to water; among them are Pontus, 
god of the unfruitful sea, Nereus and his fifty daughters, 
Myths having Thetis, Doris, Galatea, Amphitrite, Thau- 
physicai basis, mas (wonder) and his daughter, Iris (the 
rainbow), also his daughters, the Harpies, Medusa of 
the snaky locks, Pegasus, Gorgon the three headed, 
Cerberus "the irresistible dog of Hell with brazen 
voice and fifty heads," the Hydra, the Sphynx, the Nile 
river, the " divine Scamander " and the Styx. 

Then follows a list of solar deities, Sun, Moon, 
Morn, Astraeus the god of starlight, Pallas, Lucifer and 
, r ^ r. ■ others. These are succeeded by deities of 

Myths having 1 J 

elrth is re and greater or less importance which are easily 
traceable to air or the combined effects of air 
and water, or water, earth and heat, or to astronomical 
effects. Among these are Boreas, Zephyr, Hecate, the 
moon, Notus, the dark robed Latona (twilight or dark- 
ness), Atlas, Rhea and her children Vesta, Demeter, 
Here, Pluto, Neptune and Jupiter. One of these 
myths, usually accepted by critics as an astronomical or 
solar legend; the birth of Zeus, is among the most im- 



liOMKK TO HIE FIRST OLYMPIAD 295 

portant of the stories in the Theogony since it has been 
incorporated into the thought of all literatures along the 
line of history. 

THE BIRTH OF ZEUS (JUPITER). 

1 ' Rhea and Cronus were the parents of renowned children, 
Vesta, goddess of the home-fire, Demeter, the grain giver, Here 
(or Juno) of the golden sandals, and mighty Hades, who inhab- 
its halls beneath the earth, a king of ruthless heart, and loud- 
resounding Xeptune, god of the wide waters, and counselling 
Jupiter, father of gods, as well as of men, whose 
Time swallows thunder shakes the broad earth. These children 

up his children _ 

as fast as they did huge Cronus devour while yet as young babes 

are born. ° J J o 

they sat on their mother's knee, with this intent that 
none of the illustrious, heaven-born children might hold royal 
honor among the immortals. For he had heard from Earth and 
starry Heaven that he was fated to be subdued by his own child 
through the counsels of mighty Jove. Wherefore he did not 
keep a careless watch, but lying in wait for them, kept devour- 
ing his own sons while a grief, not to be forgotten, took posses- 
sion of Rhea. So she prayed to her dear parents, Earth and 
starry Heaven, to contrive a plan whereby she might hide her 
new-born babe Zeus and take vengeance on Cronus for his fury 
against his children. Her prayers were heard, and Earth and 
starr} 7 Heaven complied with her request. They sent her to 
Lyctus with mighty Jove, the youngest of her sons, and vast 
Earth received him from her to rear and nurture in broad Crete. 
There indeed came she, bearing him through the swift dark 
night, and hid him in 'a deep cave 'neath the recesses of the 
divine Earth, in the densely wooded JEgean mount. But to 
Cronus, the great prince, the son of Heaven, former sovereign of 
the gods, she gave a huge stone, having wrapped it in swaddling 
clothes. This he took in his hands and stowed away in his belly, 
wretch as he was, nor did he know that his invincible and un- 
troubled son was saved to rise against him; Zeus, who should 
shortly subdue him by strength of hand, drive him from his 
honors, and himself reign among the immortals. 



296 THE WORLDS LITERATURE 

Quickly throve the spirit and the beauteous limbs of Zeus, 
and as the years came round, having been beguiled by the wise 
counsels of Earth, huge Cronus, let loose his offspring, whom he 
had swallowed, having been overcome by the artfulness and the 
strength of his son. And first he disgorged the stone, since he 
swallowed it last. This stone Jove fixed down upon the earth in 
divine Pytho, beneath the clefts of Parnassus, to be a monument 
and a marvel to mortal men. Then he loosed from destructive 
bonds his father's brethren, the sons of Heaven, whom Cronus 
had bound in his folly. For this kindness they gave him the 
thunder and the smoking bolt and lightning, which before this 
huge Earth had hidden. Trusting in these weapons, Zeus rules 
over mortals and immortals." 

The story of Cronus swallowing his children is suc- 
ceeded by an account of the origin of woman, the mak- 
ing of Pandora as a punishment to men, in payment of a 
grudge of Zeus against Prometheus. The same tale is 
repeated in Works and Days, with some elaboration. 
From the two poems the entire story shapes itself as 
follows: 

THE CREATION OF PANDORA. 

4 'The Titan, Iapetus, wedded the fair-ankled Oceanid, Cly- 
mene, and to her was born stout-hearted sons, Atlas, Menaetius, 
who was exceeding famous, artful Prometheus, full 
endu S rance, nmg of various wiles, and Epimetheus, of an erring mind, 
tality, arising " who was from the beginning an evil to men; for he 
boldness, Epi- it was who first received from Jove the clay-formed 

metheus, blind- .. ■ , „ . ., 

ness, Prome- woman, a virgin. The insolent Menaetius wiae-see- 

theus, provi- . . 

denceorfore- m p; Jove thrust down to Erebus, having stricken 

thought. ° . 

him with flaming lightning on account of his arro- 
gance and strength. But Atlas upholds broad Heaven by strong 
necessity. He stands before the Hesperides, on earth's verge, 
with unwearied head and hands. For this was the doom appor- 
tioned him by Zeus. The wily-minded Prometheus Jove bound 
in indissoluble bonds, with painful chains, having fastened them 
to the middle of a rock. And he urged against him an eagle with 



HOMER TO THE FIRST OLYMPIAD 297 

out-spread wings. It kept feeding on his immortal liver, which 
grew by night to the same size as it was the day before, ere the 
eagle had eaten it. This bird Hercules slew and released Prome- 
theus from his anxieties, not without permission of Olympian 
Jove. Thus Zeus honors his famous son; and though angry, he 
ceased from the wrath which he was cherishing, because he 
strove in plans against the almight}' son of Cronus. For when 
gods and mortal men were once contending, Prometheus set a 
huge ox before them, having divided it in such manner as to de- 
ceive the wisdom of Jove. On the one hand he deposited the 
flesh and entrails, with rich fat on the hide, having covered it 
with the belly of the ox. On the other hand he laid down the 
white bones of the ox, covering them with white fat. Then it 
was that the sire of gods and men addressed him, 'Son of Iapetus, 
far-famed among kings, how unfairly, good friend, you have 
divided the portions/ Thus spake Jupiter, rebukingly. And 
Prometheus answered him, laughing to himself: ' Most Glorious 
Jove, greatest of the everliving gods, choose whichever of these 
portions the inclination within your breast bids you.' He spake 
The provoca- hoping to deceive, but Jove was aware of his guile 

and was boding in his heart evils to mortal men. 
Then with both hands he lifted up the white fat and he waxed 
wrathful in spirit when he saw the white bones of the ox ar- 
ranged with guileful art. Then cloud-compelling Jove addressed 
him, greatly displeased; ' Son of Iapetus, skilled in wise plans, 
The punish- you do not, good sir, forget artful tricks.' Thus 

Jove spake in his wrath. From that time forward, 
ever mindful of the fraud, he gave no fire to wretched mortal 
men. 

But the good son of Iapetus cheated him and stole fire from 
Zeus, hiding it in the hollow fennel-stalk. And it stung high- 
thundering Jove to the heart's core when he saw fire shining out 
among men. Forthwith he planned new evil for men, in requit- 
al for the fire. Then he addressed Prometheus in wrath: ' O, 
son of Iapetus, knowing beyond all in counsels, thou exultest in 
having stolen fire and deceived my wisdom, a severe woe to thy- 
self and men that shall come after. To them will I give evil 
now instead of fire, wherewith they shall delight themselves at 



2dS fHE World's LITERATURE 

heart, hugging their own evil.' So spake he, and out-laughed 
the sire of men and gods. But he bade the illustrious Vulcan 
halting in both feet, with all speed mix earth and water, and 
fashion the image of a modest maiden, enduing it with man's 
voice and strength and the countenance of immortal goddesses. 
He bade Minerva to teach her work, to weave the highly- wrought 
web, and to array her in silver- white raiment. From her head 
she held with her hands a curiously embroidered veil, a marvel 
to look upon. Pallas Athena placed around her head lovely 
garlands fresh-budding with meadow flowers, and around her 
head she set a golden coronet, which renowned Vulcan had 
made himself, having wrought it carefully by hand out of com- 
pliment to Jove, his sire On it he had wrought many curious 
monsters, a marvel to view, as many in abundance as there are 
in the sea and on the land. Many of these were of wondrous 
beauty and like to living animals gifted with sound. Around 
her skin the goddess Graces and august Persuasion hung golden 
chains, while the fair-tressed Hours crowned her with flowers of 
spring. Pall as Minerva adapted every ornament to her person, 
but in her breast conductor Mercury wrought falsehoods and 
wily speeches and tricky manners, by the counsels of Jove. And 
the herald of the gods placed within her a winning voice, and he 
called this woman Pandora, because all of the Olympian gods 
bestowed upon her a gift, a mischief to inventive men. 

When he had wrought this beauteous evil instead of a good, 
Vulcan led her forth into the presence of gods and men, exulting 
in her beauty. 

And wonder seized immortal gods as well as mortal men, when 
they beheld a deep snare against which man's arts are in vain. 
Now from her is the race of tender women. From her is a per- 
nicious race and tribes of women, a great source of hurt, dwell 
along with mortal men, helpmates not of consuming poverty, but 
of surfeit. As when in close-roofed hives bees feed drones, the 
former through the whole day till sunset are busy day by day, 
and make white combs, whilst the latter, remaining within the 
close-roofed hives, reap the labors of others for their own maws, 
just so to mortal men high-thundering Jove gave women as an 
evil. Another evil too did he provide instead of good; to- wit, 



HOMER TO THK K1KST OLYMPIAD 290 

whosoever shunning marriage and the ills that women work, de- 
clines to marry, and has come to a pernicious old age, through 
want of one to tend his latter days; he lives not, it is true, in lack 
of subsistence, but when he is dead, distant kindred divide his 
possessions. While to whomsoever, on the other hand, the lot of 
marriage shall have fallen, and he has a good wife congenial to 
his heart, to him then forever ill contends with good to be with 
him. But whoso finds a baneful breed, lives with an incessant 
care in his breast, and a woe without remedy. 

The snare perfected, father Jove proceeded to send Hermes, 
messenger of the gods, carrying her as a gift to Epimetheus. 
Nor did Epimetheus consider how Prometheus had told him 
never to accept a gift from Olympian Jove but to send it back, 
lest haply any ill should arise to mortals. But he, after receiving 
it, felt the evil. Before that the races of men were wont to live 
on the earth free from ills, without harsh labor and painful 
diseases which have brought death on mortals; for men grow old 
The origin of rapidly if they are wretched. But Pandora removed 
womanV^ the great lid from the vessel which contained all 
curiosity. ey ^ aQ( j SQ con t r i ve( } baneful cares for men. Hope 

alone remained within the vessel, nor did it flit forth abroad. She 
placed the lid back on the vessel before it could escape, by the 
counsels of cloud-compelling Jove. So myriads of ills roamed 
forth among men. The earth was full of woes and the sea was 
full also. By day and by night unbidden diseases haunted man- 
kind, silently bearing ills to men, for Jove had deprived them of 
their voices. Thus it is not in any wa} T possible to escape the 
will of Jove." 

The story of Pandora is succeeded by an account of 
Jove's war with the Titans and it ends with a record of 
his various marriages, and short notices of his many 
children. 

THE SHIELD OF HERCULES. 

This disjointed fragment is evidently an imitation of 
Homer's description of the shield of Achilles. The first 
few lines treat of the fortunes of Alcmene, the mother 



300 THE WORLD'S LITERATURE 

of Hercules, and the birth of that hero. The other por- 
tions need no special notice. The lines are more elabo- 
rate than Homer's and lack the simplicity of the older 
poem. 

PICTURES ON THE SHIELD. 

"There was a choir of immortals and in the midst, Apollo, the 

son of Jove and Latona, was playing a delightsome strain on a 

Apoiio and the golden lyre. There was holy Olympus, seat of the 

gods, and on it an assembly in a contest of the gods, 

whilst the Muses were beginning a song. 

Thereon, too, was a harbor with safe port of the monstrous 

sea, which had been fashioned out of refined tin, like to a surging 

sea; in the midst of it many dolphins were dashing here and there 

in chase of fish, iust as though they were swim- 

Water scenes. * 

ming; and two dolphins of silver were feasting on 
the dumb fishes. Beneath these were fishes wrought in brass. 
A fisherman on the lookout, sat on the banks and he had a net 
in his hands and resembled a person in act to throw. 

There, too, was fair-haired Danse's son, Perseus. The famous 
cripple, Yulcan, had wrought his hands in gold, but he had 
The picture of winged sandals upon his feet. A hanger of brass 

Perseus and . . , 

Medusa. with an iron scabbard fastened by a thong hung 

from his shoulders. The Gorgon, a terrible monster, covered the 
the whole of his back, and a knapsack wrought in silver with 
golden tassels was stretched around it, while he wore on his head 
the invisible helmet of Hades. Perseus was outstretched like one 
hurrying and shuddering with fear, while after him, the unap- 
proachable Gorgons were darting, eager to seize him. 

Again, on another side young men were making merry with 
the flute, these disporting with the song and dance, those on the 
a festival other hand laughing. Others again in front of the city 

scene. ha d mounted on horseback and were darting along. 

Ploughmen were cleaving the rich soil and had their tunics 
girt. And there was a thick standing crop. Some were reaping 
a harvest the staff -like stalks laden with ears. Others were 

scene- binding them with straw ropes and were laying 

threshing floors. 



HOMER TO THE FIRST OLYMPIAD 301 

Vintagers were gathering the fruit of the vines. Some were 
carrying white and dark clusters laden with foliage and silvery 
a vintage tendrils from the vintagers to baskets. Others were 

scene ' carrying the clusters in the baskets; near them was 

a row of vines wrought in gold (famous works of skillful Vulcan), 
waving with leaves and trellises in silver, weighed down with dark 
grapes. These vintagers were sporting to the minstrel's flute. 
Some were treading grapes and others were drawing the juice." 

THE WORKS AND DAYS. 

"The tale of Prometheus." says Symonds, "maybe called 
the first canto of the Works and Days. The second consists of 
the vision of the four ages of man. Hesiod, in common with 
all early poets, imagined a state of primeval bliss, which he 
called the Age of Gold. Then Cronus reigned upon the earth. 
and men lived without care or pain or old age. Their death was 
like the coming on of sleep, and the soil bore them fruit untilled. 
The next age he calls the Silver, for it was inferior to the first. 
Zeus speedily swept it away seeing that men of this generation 
waxed insolent and paid no honor to the gods. The third age is 
the Brazen. A terrible and mighty brood of men possessed the 
land, who delighted in naught but violence and warfare. They 
first ate flesh. In strife they slew themselves and perished with- 
out a name. After them came the heroes of romance, whom 
Zeus made most just and worthy. They fell fighting before seven- 
gated Thebes and Troy; but after death Father Zeus transferred 
them to the utmost limits of the world, where they live without 
care in islands of the blest, by ocean waves, blest heroes, for 
whom three times yearly the soil bears blooming fruitage, honey- 
sweet. Then cries Hesiod, and the cry is wrenched from him in 
agony: Would that 1 had never been born in the fifth generation 
of men, but rather that I had died before or had lived after- 
wards; for now the age is iron! 

What may be called the third canto is occupied with justice, 
the advantages of which are urged in verse. It begins with a 
parable concerning the wrong dealing of Perses. Thus spake 
the hawk to the nightingale of changeful throat, as he bore her 
far aloft among the clouds, the prey of his talons; she, poor 



302 the world's literature 

wretch, wailed piteously in the grip of his crooked claws; but he 
insultingly addressed her; 'Wretch, why criest thou? thou art 
now the prey of one that is stronger; and thou shalt go whither 
I choose to take thee, song-bird as thou art. Yea, if I see fit I 
will make my supper of thee or else let thee go. A fool is he who 
kicks against his betters: of victory is he robbed, and suffers in- 
jury as well as insult.' Hesiod himself is, of course, meant by 
the nightingale, and the hawk stands for violence triumphing 
over justice. 

Then the condition of a city where justice is honored is con- 
trasted with the plagues, wars and famines that beset the unjust 
nation. And the poet tells us that for innocent people the earth 
bears plenty and the woolly sheep are weighed down with their 
fleeces. With blessings do men flourish nor need they tempt the 
sea in ships, but earth abundantly supplies their wants. 

The subject of justice being exhausted, Hesiod passes, in the 
fourth canto of Works and Days, to the eulogy of labor, regarded 
as the source of all good. The unheroic nature of his life- 
philosophy is very apparent in this section. He thinks and 
speaks like a peasant, whose one idea is to add pence to pence, 
and to cut a good figure before the world. 

Thus ends the first part of the Works and Days. The second 
half of the poem consists of rules for husbandry. Hesiod goes 
through the seasons of the year, detailing the operations of the 
several months, and adorning his homely subject with sober but 
graceful poetry. It is an elegant farmer's calendar. Some scat- 
tered proverbs about the conduct of the tongue and the choice of 
friends, followed by an enumeration of lucky and unlucky 
days, and by a list of truly rustic rules of personal behavior, 
conclude the poem of the Works and Days." 

FROM THE /'WORKS AND DAYS." 

" O, Perses, do thou ponder these things in thy heart and 
give heed unto justice, and forget violence entirely. For this 
The dawn of law hath Jove ordained for men. It is given to 
morality. beasts and fishes and winged fowl to eat each other, 

since justice is not among them. But to men hath he given jus- 
tice, which is far best. If a man choose to know and speak out 
what is just, to him Jove gives felicity. 



HOMER TO THE FIRST OLYMPIAD 303 

Now will I speak to thee with good intent, thou exceeding 
foolish Perses. Badness, look you, you may easily choose in a 
heap; level is the path, and right dwells near it. But before vir- 
tue the immortal gods have set exertion, and long and steep and 
rugged at first is the way to it, but when one shall have reached 
the summit, then truly it is easy, difficult though it be before. 
He is good who follows good advice; but he who hath no under- 
standing and will not hear another is a worthless fellow. Do 
thou, ever mindful of my precept, work on, Perses, that so fam- 
ine may hate thee, and Ceres love thee, august as she is, and fill 
thy garner with substance. For famine is ever the sluggard's 
companion. Gods and men are indignant with him who lives a 
sluggard's life. The slothful man is like to stingless drones, 
Labor as a basis which consume the honey of bees. Let it be a 
of morality. p i easur e to thee to do seemly works, that so thy 
garners may be full of seasonable substance. From works men 
become rich in flocks and other wealth. By working thou wilt 
be dearer far to immortals and to mortals. For greatly do they 
hate sluggards. Work is no disgrace, but sloth is a disgrace. 
If thou shouldst work, quickly will the sluggard envy thee 
growing rich, for esteem and glory accompany wealth. To a 
sensible man, such as thou wert, to labor is best, if having turned 
a witless mind from the possession of others towards work, thou 
wouldst study thy subsistence as I recommend thee. 

A false shame possesses a needy man. shame which greatly 
hurts or helps men. Shame goes with poverty, but confidence is 
beside wealth. Possessions not gotten by plunder, but given by 
the gods, are the best. 

Invite the man that loves thee to a feast, but let thine enemy 
alone. Especially invite him that dwelleth near thee. 

A bad neighbor is as great a misfortune as a good one is a 
great blessing. Who gains a worthy neighbor hath truly gained 
a meed of honor; neither would an ox perish if there were not a 
bad neighbor. Duly repay when thou borrowest from a neigh- 
bor, in the very measure, or more if thou canst, that when in 
want thou mayst borrow again in the future. 

Gain not base gains, for they are equal to losses. Love him 
that loves thee. Be nigh to him that attaches himself to thee. 



304 the world's literature 

Give to him who hath given to thee; give not to him who hath 
not given. 

Let not a woman with sweeping train beguile thy mind, win- 
ningly coaxing and seeking after thy wealth. He who trusts a 
The heathen woman, that man, I wot, trusts knaves. At a 
woman. mature a g e fo^g home a wife to thine house, when 
thou art neither very far short of thirty years, nor hast added 
very much thereto, for such a marriage, look you, is seasonable. 
Marry a maiden, too, and do thou teach her chaste morals. 
Most of all, marry her who lives near you, when you have duly 
looked around on every one, lest you be a cause of mocking for 
your neighbors. 

Never place a can above the bowl when men drink, for a deadly 
fate is wrought thereby. When you are building a house do not 
superstitions leave it unfinished lest the cawing crow should 

taught by ° 

Hesiod. perch on it and croak. 

Teach thy servants the days appointed of Jove; the first, the 
fourth and the seventh, each is a holy day. The eighth and the 
ninth days of the month are the best for getting ready the work 
of mortals. The eleventh is good for shearing sheep and the 
twelfth for reaping laughing corn. On the thirteenth avoid com- 
mencing your sowing, though it is a good day to set plants. 

The sixteenth day is unprofitable to plants, but it is auspicious 
for the birth of men. But for a girl it is not a propitious birth- 
day or marriage day. The sixth day of the month is a suitable 
birthday for girls. The tenth day is lucky for raising sons and 
the fourteenth for girls; also the fourteenth is lucky for taming 
sheep, oxen, dogs, and mules. On the fourth of the month lead 
home a bride, but avoid the fifth; it is the day of the Furies. On 
the fourth day open your cask; the fourteenth is a day sacred 
beyond all others; the fourth is best at daybreak but towards 
evening it is worse. Sometimes a day is a step-mother, some- 
times a mother. Blest and fortunate is he who discerning omens, 
knowingly does all these things, unblamed by the immortals." 



INDEX 



TAGE. 

Acheron 265 

Achilles 36. 38 

Achilles as a chief 128 

Achilles, the ideal character of the Greeks ? 129 

Achilles rebukes Agamemnon 143 

Achilles Appeals to Thetis v . 150 

Achilles refuses Agamemnon's apology 164 

Achilles anticipates a reconciliation 169 

Achilles informed of Patroclus' death 176 

Achilles recovers his armour 194 

Achilles makes an offering to Gods 201 

Achilles in Hades 210. 270, 272 

Achilles contrasted with Hector 211 

Achilles a world spirit , 214 

iEneid compared with Iliad 134 

iEnone 80 

^olus 24. 25. 33, 216 

^Eschylus 23 

Agamemnon's quarrel with Calchas 141 

Agamemnon yields up the captive 142. 152 

Agamemnon demands Briseis 144. 148. 149 

Agamemnon sends apology to Achilles 163 

Agamemnon in Hades t 271. 272 

Aglaia 42 

Agricultural picture on Achilles' shield 186 

Air myths 20, 25 

Ajax and Hector 163 

Ajax 171 

Alcinous 235. 244. 265 

Alcmena 299 

All children are mythmakers 76 

Allegorical theory 73 

Allegorical theory not satisfactory 93 

American myths 76 

Analogy between the child and the primitive man 129 

Ancient and modern clnvalry 211 

Andromache aAvaiting the return of Hector 195 

Andromache's lament , 196 

Anticleia 267 

305 



306 INDEX 



PAGE. 

Aphrodite 29, 293 

Apollo 18, 40, 41, 138 

Apollo and the Muses 300 

Arete 244, 246, 247, 248 

Argus 218, 286 

Aristotle's pupil 213 

Armor of Achilles donned by Hector 175 

Artemis 29 

Artistic merit of Homer 158 

Ascent of Thetis to Olympus 153 

Ascra ....'. 287, 289 

Ashes of Patroclus preserved 204 

Athena, queen of the air 13, 20 

Athena, symbol of virtue 21 

Athena, the will of Achilles 21 

Athena, a spiritual power 22 

Athena teaches weaving and sewing 29 

Athena, a type of bodily strength 36 

Athena, the air nourishing plants . . . „ 39 

Athena, air conveying sound 40 * 

Athena, spirit of life *-. 43 

Athena, religious reality to the Greeks 43, 44 

Athena's power in the earth 47 

Athena's power in the heart 49 

Athena, a source of military inspiration 50 

Athena, guide of true artist ; 52 

Athena as Nemesis 55 

Athena, goddess of industry 56 

Athena, meaning of .' 82 

Athena visits Achilles 144 

Athena and Telemachus 219 

Athena and Ulysses 233, 234, 235, 237, 242, 243 

Atlas 294, 296 

Atridse 138 

Author of Iliad 151 

Bacchus 35 

Balder .103, 116 

Banquet of the gods 157 

Battle of the gods 191 

Beginning of Achilles' wrath 144 

Bending of Ulysses' bow 276 

Birth of Venus 293 

Birth of Zeus 295 

Boreas 25, 203, 294 

Boxing game , 205 



INDEX 307 



PAGE. 

Brazen age 301 

Briareus 293 

Briseis surrendered 148, 149 

Building of the raft 227 

Burning of Patroclus' body 203 

Burroughs, John 78 

Cadmus 80 

Calchas 140 

Calypso 217, 218, 222 

Cardinal virtues , 20 

Carlyle's theory of the myth 88 

Carlyle's defense of mythology 90 

Carlyle acknowledges nature theory 94 

Carlyle reverences the myth 113 

Cattle picture of Achilles' shield 187 

Cave of Polvphemus 255 

Chaos ....." 292 

Character of Achilles 134, 138, 210 

Chariot race 205 

Chart 5 

Childhood of Greek nation 68 

Children of Heaven and Earth 293 

Chivalry of Hellas 211 

Chryses 152 

Chrvses restored 152 

Circe 152, 265 

Clashing rocks 217 

Cloud myths 30 

Contest between light and darkness 120 

Criticism on Xausicaa 283 

Criticism on Penelope 285 

Criticism on Hesiod 287 

Cronos 293, 294, 295 

Culminating point of Iliad 133 

Culminating point of Odyssey 286 

Cyclops. . . ; 216, 248, 252, 259 

Cythera 293 

Dante's criticism on the Iliad : 135 

Date of Odin 107 

Dawn of morality 302 

Death of Patroclus 133, 175 

Death of Suitors 277, 279 

Deluding vision sent to Hector 192 

Demeter . . . . 19, 20 



308 INDEX 



PAGE. 

Departure of U lysses from Calypso's isle 222 

Descent into Hell 265, 266 

Destiny 293 

Development of abstract thought 63 

Development of " I am" 66 

Development of the moral idea 302, 303 

Development of thought out of and away from the myth. . . 290 

Diana 29 

Divine right of kings and poets 292 

Din° erence between myth and legend 82 

Domestic character of Ulysses 216 

Donner 103 

Doom of Achilles .. 151, 166, 190 

Duel between Paris and Menelaus 158 

Each age has its myth-makers 76 

Each nation has its myth-making age 71 

Eagle, a bird of omen 221 

Earliest period of Greek history 128 

Early thought took the form of myths 71 

Earth 292 

Earth mvths 294 

Edda 101 

Elpenor 226 

Embassy to Achilles . , 163 

Endurance of hero-worship 100 

Endvmion 85 

Erebus 265, 292 

Escape from Cyclops 261 

Euhemerus 123 

Eurydice 79 

Fates 293 

Father of Ulysses 280 

Festival scene 187 

Fetich theory of the myth 73 

Feudal relation of Homeric princes 129 

Fidelity to Patroclus '. 194 

Fight over body of Patroclus 180 

Filial alf ectibn of Ulysses 280 

Finding of the Lyre 75 

Fire encircling heads of heroes 39 

Fire myths 20, 294 

First Olympiad 127, 131, 287 

First turning point in literature 288 

Flame about Achilles' head 181, 182 



INDEX 309 



PAGE. 

Flight of Hector 191 

Four physical bases of myths 18 

Funeral pyre of Patroclus 201 

Funeral games 205 

Funeral ceremonies 202 

Furies 293 

Galatea 73, 294 

Ghost of Patroclus appears to Achilles 199 

Ghost of Achilles 270 

Ghost of Ajax 274 

Gladstone 130. 138. 215 

Gluttony symbolized by Tantalus 28 

Gnomic verse 290 

Goethe's theory of the mvtli 68, 69 

God Wish. 103 

Golden age 301 

Golden Fleece 32 

Great art. the expression of a great man 48. 49 

Great art rooted in virtue 51 

Great myths made by great people 16 

Greek art 57, 58 

Grief of Achilles 177, 178. 182, 183, 206 

Grimm denies Odin 86 

Growth of legend 86 

Hall of Odin 114 

Hamlet, as a myth 118 

Harpies 26 

Hebe 275 

Hector and Andromache 159 

Hector and his babe 162 

Hector's victory over Ajax 171 

Hector's humiliation 193 

Hector's death 193 

Hecuba 191, 207 

Hegel 84 

Hera 29 

Hercules 13, 84, 56, 59. 61 

Hercules in Hades ■ 275 

Hermes 30, 31, 32, 222 

Hero-worship the root of mythology 28 

Hesiod 287, 288, 289 

Hesiod's standard of morality 302, 303 

Hesperus 74 

Hesperides 296 



310 INDEX 



PAGE. 

Historical theory of the myth 85, 89, 100 

Historical myths 15 

Home of Ulysses 216, 219 

Homer 36, 37 

Homer better seen through later poets 24 

Homer, his own witness 130 

Homeric period 125 

Hugeness of Norse myths 104 

Hydra 294 

Hymen 74 

Hyperion : 292 

Iapetus 296, 297 

Igdrasil 105 

Importance of Jove's promise 155 

Important influence of Achilles on history and literature 211 

Influence of Achilles on Alexander 212 

Ino's scarf 229, 232 

Internal evidence of unity of the Iliad 131 

Interview between Jove and Thetis 154 

Iocasta 6 80 

Iris 180, 207 

Ithaca 216 

Ixion 33 

Jack the Giant Killer 116, 117 

Jotun 102, 119 

Jove 294, 36 

Juno 29 

Juno's rebuke 155 

Juno causes the sun to set 182 

Justice 302 

Kephalos 83, 85 

Keynote of the Iliad 132 

Kronos , 81 

Labor, as a basis of morality 303 

Laertes 128, 281 

Lameness of Vulcan 156 

Lament of Andromache 196 

Lavers 235 

Leto 81 

Libation to the gods 173, 204 

Linguistic theory 71 

Literature wrongly used in modern schools 3, 5, 44 



INDEX 311 



PAGE. 

Literature, the best vehicle for history 128 

Loke 102 

Longfellow 78 

Lotus-eaters 252 

Lowell 78 

Marriage scene on Achilles' shield 184 

Mars wounded 158 

Max Muller's theory of the myth 71, 72, 79 

Matrons of Troy 158 

Meaning of Odin 108 

Medusa 294 

Meeting of Ulysses and Penelope 286 

Midgard snake 120 

Minos 275 

Mnemosne 292 

Modern warfare 54 

Mourning ceremonies 197 

Momus, god of criticism 293 

Mort d' Arthur compared with Iliad 35 

Mother of Ulvsses 267. 269 

Muses, the 30, 131, 291 

Music 40, 41, 42 

Myrmidons 173 

Myth, a creation of the fancy 68 

Myth and poetic fiction 68 

Myth, a product of the imagination 63 

Myth-making faculty 69 

Mythical ideas common to different nations 66 

Mythology, a disease of language 72 

Mytholog^v can not be learned from dictionaries 127 

Mythology not Atheism 96 

Mythology not quackery 7 92 

Myth, the spirit of the people 70 

Myths growing around us - 85 

Napoleon compared with Achilles 214 

Nausicaa's dream 234 

Nausicaa, as a type 239 

Nausicaa at the layers 236 

Nature theory 62, 67 

Nemesis \ 294 

Nemean lion 61 

Neoptolemus 273 

Neptune 294 

Nereus 294 



312 IXDEX 



PAGE. 

Nestor 146 

Niebelungen lied 134 

Night attack on the Trojans 1G7 

Night * 292 

Niobe 80 

Nobleness of thought in the myth 17 

Nobility of hero-worship 100 

No-Man's-Land 217, 253 

Norse mythology in English 113 

Norse religion 102 

Ocean scene on Achilles' shield 188 

Odin 88, 91 

Odin, a great man 186 

Odin, a typical Norseman Ill 

Odin's day 107 

Odin's relation to Teutonic thought 112 

Odin, the origin of Norse mythology 106 

Odin-worship 108 

Odvssev compared with Iliad 225 

(Edipus 80 

Offering to Apollo 152, 153 

Office of the Muses 291 

Olaf 121 

Old Father Time 295 

Olympiad 127 

Olympus 292 

Origin of the idea of woman's curiosity 299 

Origin of the gods 292 

Origin of abstract thought 64 

Origin of the myth 11, 13 

Origin of the myth in hero-worship 97 

Origin of Norse myth 100 

Origin of terms common to different languages 65 

Orpheus 79 

Paganism 91 

Palace of Alcinous 245 

Pan 40, 73 

Pandareos' dog 29 

Pandora, .t 74, 296, 297, 298 

Parthenon 21 

Parting of Ulysses and Calypso 225, 226 

Pastoral verse , 289 

Pastoral scene on Achilles' shield 185 

Passion of Achilles 135 



INDEX 313 

PAGE. 

Patroclus 134, 168, 171 

Pegasus 294 

Penelope 29, 36, 217, 276 

Penelope's web 219 

Periods of Greek literature 127 

Perseus .' 80, 300 

Perses 301, 302 

Persephone 265, 266, 271 

Philolosrv 72, 81, 85 

Phoebe 292 

Phoebus 81 

Phoenix 163, 167 

Phrixus and Helle 32 

Physical basis of the myth 62 

Pictures on the shield of Hercules 300 

Pilgrim's Progress 94 

Pindar 23 

Pitys 73 

Plan of ' ' The World's Literature" 5 

Plan of the Iliad 132 

Plot of the Odyssey 216, 218 

Pluto V. 19, 294 

Poetical theory 73 

Poetry compared with mythology 74 

Point of culmination in Odvssey 286 

Pontus 294 

Poseidon 216, 263, 272 

Prayer of Achilles 174 

Prayer of Cyclops 262 

Prayer of Hector 169 

Preservation of the myth 101 

Prizes given at games 205 

Priam visits Achilles 207 

Professor Cox's theory of myths 79 

Prokris 83 

Prometheus 71, 296 

Prometheus steals fire 297 

Promise of Jove to Thetis 154, 155 

Proserpine 19 

Prudence of Nausicaa 

Quarrel of Achilles with Agamemnon 142 

Real ending of Iliad 273 

Real meaning of myth 17 

Realities underlying the myth 16 



314 INDEX 



PAGE. 

Reconciliation of Achilles to Agamemnon 189 

Recovery of the body of Patroclus 182 

Redemption of Hector's body 207 

Relation of Hindoo myths 116 

Relation of Sanscrit to later words 64 

Rescue of Ulysses 233 

Reverence, the supreme quality of human mind 46 

Reverence of Schiller 160 

Reverence of great writers for mythology 12, 13 

Reverence for man at the foundation of the myth 97 

Rhea 294 

Riley, James Whitcomb 76 

Rivers of Hades 265 

Rites necessary for communication with the dead 265 

Root and two branches to the myth 16 

Ruskin and Carlyle 122 

Ruskin 12, 46 

Ruses of Odin 110 

Sarpedon 80 

Scamandrinus and Achilles 191 

Scandinavian and Greek mythology contrasted 104 

Scheria 231 

Science insufficient 95 

Scriptural theory 73 

Schiller 110 

Selections from Iliad 138 

Selections from Odyssey 226 

Selections from Hesiod 290 

Shepherd of King Admetus 86 

Shield of Achilles 184 

Shield of Hercules 299 

Shipwreck of Ulysses 228, 229 

Silver age 301 

Sincerity of the myth-maker 113 

Sisyphus... 32, 33, 275 

Skrymir 119 

Solar theory 79, 83, 89 

Solar deities 294 

Son of Achilles 273 

Soul of the nation in its myth 85 

South wind and the sun 76 

Sperchius 201 

St. Olaf 121 

St. George 14 

Star Worshippers 96 



INDEX 315 

PAGE. 

Styx 265, 294 

Suitors urge their claims 220, 221 

Sun myths 84, 89 

Surrender of Hector's body 207 

Symonds 62, 67, 83, 123, 283 

Tantalus 28, 275 

Teiresias 265, 266, 268, 272 

Telemachus and Athene 219 

Telemachus 267 

Telemachus replies to suitors 221 

Temperance 21 

Tenderness of Achilles 207 

Tethys 292 

Time necessary for perfecting the myth 67 

Time the greatest miracle 95 

The art gift from Athena 51 

The dog as related to the myth 28 

The fly, a symbol of courage 37 

The hero as a divinity 89 

The Harpy an air-myth 26 

The Harpy a symbol of malice 27 

Theories of the myth 62 

Theory according to Lowell 86 

The root of the myth 16 

The myth-making faculty in American writers 76 

Themis 292 

The Muses 290 

The myth, a pure poem 74 

The myth-making age always with us 75 

Theogony " 289 

Thor, the peasant's friend 117 

Thor 103 

The tide 67 

Thetis 149, 150, 177, 179, 189, 207, 294 

Triptolemus 19 

Trojans terror-stricken by Achilles' shout 182 

Twelve 110 

Unity of Iliad 130, 133, 135 

Ulysses 215 

Ulysses' fidelity 226 

Ulysses compares Penelope and Calypso 226 

Ulysses relates his story 249 

Ulysses puts out the eye of Polyphemus 259 

Ulysses proves his identity 282 



316 INDEX 



PAGE. 

Vain desire symbolized in the harpy 27 

Valkyrs ....'. 114 

Valor of early Norsemen 114 

Value of Sanscrit 64 

Vedas 62, 81, 125 

Vengeance of Achilles 192 

Vengeance of Apollo 138 

Venus 29 

Vico's theory 63 

Victoiy of Achilles over Hector 1 92 

Vintage scene on Achilles' shield 187 

Vitality of the myth 45, 124 

Vulcan creates Pandora 298 

Vulcan dries up the Scamander 191 

Vulcan forges the armor of Achilles 184 

Vulcan pacifies Juno 156 

Water myths 20, 294 

War pictures 185 

Web of Penelope 219 

White lady of the sea 229 

William Tell 86 

Withdrawal of Achilles 148 

Wooers 219 

Women of Homer 283 

Works and days 381 

Worship, transcendent wonder , 96 

Worship of heroes 18 

Wrath of Achilles 132, 138 

Wrestlers 206 

Wuotan 109 

Xanthus 172 

Xanthus prophesies death of Achilles 190 

Yellow locks of Achilles 201 

Ymer 104 

Zephyr 294 

Zephyrus 203 

Zeus deceived 297 

Zeus, meaning of . . 82 

Zoroaster 125 



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